THE 

FORTUNE 
HUNTER 

DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 
SANTA    CRUZ 


SANTA     CRUZ 


Gift  oi 

Lem  C.    Brown 


THE  FORTUNE  HUNTER 


Feuerstein  kissed  her  on  the  hang  of  her  cheek 


THE 

FORTUNE  HUNTER 


DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 

Author  of 

The  Deluge,  The  Social  Secretary 
The  Plum  Tree.  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

E.  M.  ASHE 


INDIANAPOLIS 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1906 
THE  BOBBS-MBBRILL  COMPANY 

MAT 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


a 


ft 

O/ 


PS 

3531 


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THE  FORTUNE  HUNTER 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAOB 

I  liiNTEK  JU.R.  f  EUER8TBIN            •           •           •           •           1 

II  BRASS  OUTSHINES  GOLD         .       .       .       .23 

III  FORTUNE  FAVORS  THE  IMPUDENT          .       .      37 

IV  A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER      ...      59 
V  A  SENSITIVE  SOUL  SEEKS  SALVE   ...      82 

VI  TRAGEDY  IN  TOMPKINS  SQUARE     .        .       .110 

VII  LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS     .        .        .        .122 

VIII  A  SHEEP  WIELDS  THE  SHEARS       .        .        .143 

IX  AN  IDYL  OP  PLAIN  PEOPLE    ....    151 

X  MR.  FEUERSTEIN  Is  CONSISTENT   .        .        .169 

XI  MR.  FEUERSTEIN  »s  CLIMAX    .        .        .       .181 

XII  EXIT  MR.  FEUBRSTEIN  .                              ,    198 


THE  FORTUNE  HUNTER 


THE  FORTUNE  HUNTER 


ENTER  MR.   FEUERSTEIN 

On  an  afternoon  late  in  April  Feuer- 
stein  left  his  boarding-house  in  East  Six 
teenth  Street,  in  the  block  just  beyond  the 
eastern  gates  of  Stuyvesant  Square,  and 
paraded  down  Second  Avenue. 

A  romantic  figure  was  Feuerstein,  of 
the  German  Theater  stock  company.  He 
was  tall  and  slender,  and  had  large,  hand 
some  features.  His  coat  was  cut  long  over 
the  shoulders  and  in  at  the  waist  to  show 
his  lines  of  strength  and  grace.  He  wore 
a  pearl-gray  soft  hat  with  rakish  brim,  and 
it  was  set  with  suspicious  carelessness  upon 
bis  bushy  yellow  hair.  His  eyes  were 
I 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

bright  blue,  and  seemed  to  blazon  a  fiery, 
sentimental  nature.  He  strode  along,  in 
tensely  self-conscious,  not  in  the  way  that 
causes  awkwardness,  but  in  the  way  that 
causes  a  swagger.  One  had  only  to  glance 
at  him  to  know  that  he  was  offensive 
to  many  men  and  fascinating  to  many 
women. 

Not  an  article  of  his  visible  clothing  had 
been  paid  for,  and  the  ten-cent  piece  in  a 
pocket  of  his  trousers  was  his  total  cash 
balance.  But  his  heart  was  as  light  as  the 
day.  Had  he  not  youth?  Had  he  not 
health?  Had  he  not  looks  to  bewitch  the 
women,  brains  to  outwit  the  men?  Feuer- 
stein  sniffed  the  delightful  air  and  gazed 
round,  like  a  king  in  the  midst  of  cringing 
subjects.  "I  feel  that  this  is  one  of  my 
lucky  days,"  said  he  to  himself.  An  aristo 
crat,  a  patrician,  a  Hochwohlgeboren,  if 
ever  one  was  born. 

At  the  Fourteenth-Street  crossing  he 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

became  conscious  that  a  young  man  was 
looking  at  him  with  respectful  admiration 
and  with  the  anxiety  of  one  who  fears  a 
distinguished  acquaintance  has  forgotten 
him.  Feuerstein  paused  and  in  his  grand 
est,  most  gracious  manner,  said :  "Ah !  Mr. 
Hartmann — a  glorious  day!" 

Young  Hartmann  flushed  with  pleasure 
and  stammered,  "Yes — a  glorious  day!" 

"It  is  lucky  I  met  you,"  continued 
Feuerstein.  "I  had  an  appointment  at  the 
Cafe  Boulevard  at  four,  and  came  hurry 
ing  away  from  my  lodgings  with  empty 
pockets — I  am  so  absent-minded.  Could 
you  convenience  me  for  a  few  hours  with 
five  dollars?  I'll  repay  you  to-night — you 
will  be  at  Goerwitz's  probably?  I  usually 
look  in  there  after  the  theater." 

Hartmann  colored  with  embarrassment. 
"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  humbly,  "I've  got 
only  a  two-dollar  bill.  If  it  would — " 

Feuerstein  looked  annoyed.  "Perhaps 
s 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

I  can  make  that  do.  Thank  you — sorry  to 
trouble  you.  I  must  be  more  careful." 

The  two  dollars  were  transferred,  Feu- 
erstein  gave  Hartmann  a  flourishing  stage 
salute  and  strode  grandly  on.  Before  he 
had  gone  ten  yards  he  had  forgotten 
Hartmann  and  had  dismissed  all  financial 
care — had  he  not  enough  to  carry  him 
through  the  day,  even  should  he  meet  no 
one  who  would  pay  for  his  dinner  and  his 
drinks?  "Yes,  it  is  a  day  to  back  myself 
to  win — fearlessly!" 

The  hedge  at  the  Cafe  Boulevard  was 
green  and  the  tables  were  in  the  yard  and 
on  the  balconies;  but  Feuerstein  entered, 
seated  himself  in  one  of  the  smoke-fogged 
reading-rooms,  ordered  a  glass  of  beer, 
and  divided  his  attention  between  the  Flie- 
gende  Blatter  and  the  faces  of  incoming 
men.  After  half  an  hour  two  men  in  an 
arriving  group  of  three  nodded  coldly  to 
him.  He  waited  until  they  were  seated, 

4 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

then  joined  them  and  proceeded  to  make 
himself  agreeable  to  the  one  who  had  just 
been  introduced  to  him — young  Horwitz, 
an  assistant  bookkeeper  at  a  department 
store  in  Twenty-third  Street.  But  Hor 
witz  had  a  "soul,"  and  the  yearning  of  that 
secret  soul  was  for  the  stage.  Feuerstein 
did  Horwitz  the  honor  of  dining  with  him. 
At  a  quarter  past  seven,  with  his  two  dol 
lars  intact,  with  a  loan  of  one  dollar  added 
to  it,  and  with  five  of  his  original  ten  cents, 
he  took  himself  away  to  the  theater. 
Afterward,  by  appointment,  he  met  his 
new  friend,  and  did  him  the  honor  of  ac 
companying  him  to  the  Young  German 
Shooters'  Society  ball  at  Terrace  Garden. 
It  was  one  of  those  simple,  entirely  and 
genuinely  gay  entertainments  that  assem 
ble  the  society  of  the  real  New  York — the 
three  and  a  half  millions  who  work  and 
play  hard  and  live  plainly  and  without 
pretense,  whose  ideals  center  about  the 

5 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

hearth,  and  whose  aspirations  are  to  retire 
with  a  competence  early  in  the  afternoon 
of  life,  thenceforth  placidly  to  assist  in  the 
prosperity  of  their  children  and  to  have 
their  youth  over  again  in  their  grandchil 
dren. 

Feuerstein's  gaze  wandered  from  face 
to  face  among  the  young  women,  to  pause 
at  last  upon  a  dark,  handsome,  strong- 
looking  daughter  of  the  people.  She  had 
coal-hlack  hair  that  curled  about  a  low 
forehead.  Her  eyes  were  dreamy  and 
stormy.  Her  mouth  was  sweet,  if  a  trifle 
petulant.  "And  who  is  she?"  he  asked. 

"That's  Hilda  Brauner,"  replied  Hor- 
witz.  "Her  father  has  a  delicatessen  in 
Avenue  A.  He's  very  rich — owns  three 
flat-houses.  They  must  bring  him  in  at 
least  ten  thousand  net,  not  to  speak  of 
what  he  makes  in  the  store.  They're  fine 
people,  those  Brauners;  none  nicer  any 
where." 


She  blushed  and  was  painfully  ill  at  ease          Page  7 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

"A  beautiful  creature,"  said  Feuerstein, 
who  was  feeling  like  a  prince  who,  for  rea 
sons  of  sordid  necessity,  had  condescended 
to  a  party  in  Fifth  Avenue.  "I'd  like  to 
meet  her." 

"Certainly,"  replied  Horwitz.  "I'll  in 
troduce  her  to  you." 

She  blushed  and  was  painfully  ill  at 
ease  in  presence  of  his  grand  and  lofty 
courtesy — she  who  had  been  used  to  the 
offhand  manners  which  prevail  wherever 
there  is  equality  of  the  sexes  and  the  cus 
tom  of  frank  sociability.  And  when  he 
asked  her  to  dance  she  would  have  refused 
had  she  been  able  to  speak  at  all.  But  he 
bore  her  off  and  soon  made  her  forget  her 
self  in  the  happiness  of  being  drifted  in 
his  strong  arm  upon  the  rhythmic  billows 
of  the  waltz.  At  the  end  he  led  her  to  a 
seat  and  fell  to  complimenting  her — his 
eyes  eloquent,  his  voice,  it  seemed  to  her, 
as  entrancing  as  the  waltz  music.  When 
7 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

he  spoke  in  German  it  was  without  the 
harsh  sputtering  and  growling,  the  sloven 
ly  slurring  and  clipping  to  which  she  had 
been  accustomed.  She  could  answer  only 
with  monosyllables  or  appreciative  looks, 
though  usually  she  was  a  great  talker  and, 
as  she  had  much  common  sense  and  not  a 
little  wit,  a  good  talker.  But  her  awe  of 
him,  which  increased  when  she  learned 
that  he  was  on  the  stage,  did  not  prevent 
her  from  getting  the  two  main  impressions 
he  wished  to  make  upon  her — that  Mr. 
Feuerstein  was  a  very  grand  person  in 
deed,  and  that  he  was  condescending  to  be 
profoundly  smitten  of  her  charms. 

She  was  the  "catch"  of  Avenue  A,  tak 
ing  prospects  and  looks  together,  and  the 
men  she  knew  had  let  her  rule  them.  In 
Mr.  Feuerstein  she  had  found  what  she 
had  been  unconsciously  seeking  with  the 
Ideallsmus  of  genuine  youth — a  man  who 
compelled  her  to  look  far  up  to  him,  a 

8 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

man  who  seemed  to  her  to  embody  those 
vague  dreams  of  a  life  grand  and  beauti 
ful,  away  off  somewhere,  which  are 
dreamed  by  all  young  people,  and  by  not  a 
few  older  ones,  who  have  less  excuse  for  not 
knowing  where  happiness  is  to  be  found. 
He  spent  the  whole  evening  with  her ;  Mrs. 
Liebers  and  Sophie,  with  whom  she  had 
come,  did  not  dare  interrupt  her  pleasure, 
but  had  to  stay,  yawning  and  cross,  until 
the  last  strain  of  Home,  Sweet  Home. 

At  parting  he  pressed  her  hand.  "I 
have  been  happy,"  he  murmured  in  a  tone 
which  said,  "Mine  is  a  sorrow-shadowed 
soul  that  has  rarely  tasted  happiness." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  with  ingenuous 
feeling  in  her  eyes  and  managed  to  stam 
mer:  "I  hope  we'll  meet  again." 

"Couldn't  I  come  down  to  see  you  Sun 
day  evening?" 

"There's  a  concert  in  the  Square.    If 
you're  there  I  might  see  you." 
9 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Until  Sunday  night,"  he  said,  and 
made  her  feel  that  the  three  intervening 
days  would  be  for  him  three  eternities. 

She  thought  of  him  all  the  way  home  in 
the  car,  and  until  she  fell  asleep.  His  so 
norous  name  was  in  her  mind  when  she 
awoke  in  the  morning;  and,  as  she  stood 
in  the  store  that  day,  waiting  on  the  cus 
tomers,  she  looked  often  at  the  door,  and, 
with  the  childhood-surviving  faith  of 
youth  in  the  improbable  and  impossible, 
hoped  that  he  would  appear.  For  the  first 
time  she  was  definitely  discontented  with 
her  lot,  was  definitely  fascinated  by  the 
idea  that  there  might  be  something  higher 
and  finer  than  the  simple  occupations  and 
simple  enjoyments  which  had  filled  her 
life  thus  far. 

In  the  evening  after  supper  her  father 
and  mother  left  her  and  her  brother  Au 
gust  in  charge,  and  took  their  usual  stroll 
10 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

for  exercise  and  for  the  profound  delight 
of  a  look  at  their  flat-houses — those  re 
minders  of  many  years  of  toil  and  thrift. 
They  had  spent  their  youth,  she  as  cook, 
he  as  helper,  in  one  of  New  York's  earliest 
delicatessen  shops.  When  they  had  saved 
three  thousand  dollars  they  married  and 
put  into  effect  the  plan  which  had  been 
their  chief  subject  of  conversation  every 
day  and  every  evening  for  ten  years — 
they  opened  the  "delicatessen"  in  Avenue 
A,  near  Second  Street.  They  lived  in  two 
back  rooms;  they  toiled  early  and  late  for 
twenty-three  contented,  cheerful  years — • 
she  in  the  shop  when  she  was  not  doing  the 
housework  or  caring  for  the  babies,  he  in 
the  great  clean  cellar,  where  the  cooking 
and  cabbage-cutting  and  pickling  and 
spicing  were  done.  And  now,  owners  of 
three  houses  that  brought  in  eleven  thou 
sand  a  year  clear,  they  were  about  to  re 
tire.  They  had  fixed  on  a  place  in  the 
11 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Bronx,  in  the  East  Side,  of  course,  with  a 
big  garden,  where  every  kind  of  gay 
flpwer  and  good  vegetable  could  be  grown, 
and  an  arbor  where  there  could  be  pinochle, 
beer  and  coffee  on  Sunday  afternoons.  In 
a  sentence,  they  were  honorable  and  ex 
emplary  members  of  that  great  mass  of 
humanity  which  has  the  custody  of  the 
present  and  the  future  of  the  race — those 
who  live  by  the  sweat  of  their  own  brows 
or  their  own  brains,  and  train  their  chil 
dren  to  do  likewise,  those  who  maintain 
the  true  ideals  of  happiness  and  progress, 
those  from  whom  spring  all  the  workers 
and  all  the  leaders  of  thought  and  action. 
They  walked  slowly  up  the  Avenue, 
speaking  to  their  neighbors,  pausing  now 
and  then  for  a  joke  or  to  pat  a  baby  on 
the  head,  until  they  were  within  two  blocks 
of  Tompkins  Square.  They  stopped  be 
fore  a  five-story  tenement,  evidently  the 
dwelling-place  of  substantial,  intelligent, 
12 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

self-respecting  artisans  and  their  families, 
leading  the  natural  life  of  busy  useful 
ness.  In  its  first  floor  was  a  delicatessen — 
the  sign  read  "Schwartz  and  Heilig." 
Paul  Brauner  pointed  with  his  long- 
stemmed  pipe  at  the  one  show-window. 
"Fine,  isn't  it?  Beautiful!"  he  exclaimed 
in  Low-German — they  and  almost  all 
their  friends  spoke  Low-German,  and 
used  English  only  when  they  could  not 
avoid  it. 

The  window  certainly  was  well  ar 
ranged.  Only  a  merchant  who  knew  his 
business  thoroughly — both  his  wares  and 
his  customers — could  have  thus  displayed 
cooked  chickens,  hams  and  tongues,  the 
imported  sausages  and  fish,  the  jelly-in 
closed  paste  of  chicken  livers,  the  bottles 
and  jars  of  pickled  or  spiced  meats  and 
vegetables  and  fruits.  The  spectacle  was 
adroitly  arranged  to  move  the  hungry  to 
yearning,  the  filled  to  regret,  and  the  dys- 
13 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

peptic  to  rage  and  remorse.  And  behind 
the  show-window  lay  a  shop  whose  shelves, 
counters  and  floor  were  clean  as  toil  could 
make  and  keep  them,  and  whose  air  was 
saturated  with  the  most  delicious  odors. 

Mrs.  Brauner  nodded.  "Heilig  was  up 
at  half-past  four  this  morning,"  she  said. 
"He  cleans  out  every  morning  and  he 
moves  everything  twice  a  week."  She  had 
a  round,  honest  face  that  was  an  inspiring 
study  in  simplicity,  sense  and  sentiment. 

"What  a  worker!"  was  her  husband's 
comment.  "So  unlike  most  of  the  young 
men  nowadays.  If  August  were  only  like 
him!" 

"You'd  think  Heilig  was  a  drone  if  he 
were  your  son,"  replied  Mrs.  Brauner. 
She  knew  that  if  any  one  else  had  dared 
thus  to  attack  their  boy,  his  father  would 
have  been  growling  and  snapping  like  an 
angry  bear. 

"That's  right!"  he  retorted  with  mock 
14 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

scorn.  "Defend  your  children!  You'll  be 
excusing  Hilda  for  putting  off  Heilig 
next." 

"She'll  marry  him — give  her  time," 
said  Mrs.  Brauner.  "She's  romantic,  but 
she's  sensible,  too — why,  she  was  born  to 
make  a  good  wife  to  a  hard-working  man. 
Where's  there  another  woman  that  knows 
the  business  as  she  does?  You  admit  on 
her  birthdays  that  she's  the  only  real  helper 
you  ever  had." 

"Except  you,"  said  her  husband. 

"Never  mind  me."  Mrs.  Brauner  pre 
tended  to  disdain  the  compliment. 

Brauner  understood,  however.  "We 
have  had  the  best,  you  and  I,"  said  he. 
"Arbeit  und  Liebe  und  Heim.  Nicht 
wdhr?"  Otto  Heilig  appeared  in  his  door 
way  and  greeted  them  awkwardly.  Nor 
did  their  cordiality  lessen  his  embarrass 
ment.  His  pink  and  white  skin  was  rosy 
red  and  his  frank  blue-gray  eyes  shifted 
15 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

uneasily.  But  he  was  smiling  with  eager 
friendliness,  showing  even,  sound,  white 
teeth. 

"You  are  coming  to  see  us  to-morrow?" 
asked  Mrs.  Brauner — he  always  called  on 
Sunday  afternoons  and  stayed  until  five, 
when  he  had  to  open  shop  for  the  Sunday 
supper  rush. 

"Why — that  is — not  exactly — no,"  he 
stammered.  Hilda  had  told  him  not  to 
come,  but  he  knew  that  if  he  admitted  it 
to  her  parents  they  would  be  severe  with 
her.  He  didn't  like  anybody  to  be  severe 
with  Hilda,  and  he  felt  that  their  way  of 
helping  his  courtship  was  not  suited  to 
the  modern  ideas.  "They  make  her  hate 
me,"  he  often  muttered.  But  if  he  resent 
ed  it  he  would  offend  them  and  Hilda  too ; 
if  he  acquiesced  he  encouraged  them  and 
added  to  Hilda's  exasperation. 

Mrs.  Brauner  knew  at  once  that  Hilda 
was  in  some  way  the  cause  of  the  break  in 
16 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

the  custom.  "Oh,  you  must  come,"  she 
said.  "We'd  feel  strange  all  week  if  we 
didn't  see  you  on  Sunday." 

"Yes — I  must  have  my  cards,"  insisted 
Brauner.  He  and  Otto  always  played 
pinochle;  Otto's  eyes  most  of  the  time  and 
his  thoughts  all  the  time  were  on  Hilda, 
in  the  corner,  at  the  zither,  playing  the 
maddest,  most  romantic  music ;  her  father 
therefore  usually  won,  poor  at  the  game 
though  he  was.  It  made  him  cross  to  lose, 
and  Otto  sometimes  defeated  his  own  luck 
deliberately  when  love  refused  to  do  it  for 
him. 

"Very  well,  then — that  is — if  I  can — 
I'll  try  to  come." 

Several  customers  pushed  past  him  into 
his  shop  and  he  had  to  rejoin  his  partner, 
Schwartz,  behind  the  counters.  Brauner 
and  his  wife  walked  slowly  home — it  was 
late  and  there  would  be  more  business 
than  Hilda  and  August  could  attend 
17 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

to.  As  they  crossed  Third  Street  Brauner 
said:  "Hilda  must  go  and  tell  him  to 
come.  This  is  her  doing." 

"But  she  can't  do  that,"  objected  Mrs. 
Brauner.  "She'd  say  it  was  throwing  her 
self  at  his  head." 

"Not  if  I  send  her?"  Brauner  frowned 
with  a  seeming  of  severity.  "Not  if  I,  her 
father,  send  her — for  two  chickens,  as 
we're  out?"  Then  he  laughed.  His  fierce 
ness  was  the  family  joke — when  Hilda 
was  small  she  used  to  say,  "Now,  get  mad, 
father,  and  make  little  Hilda  laugh!" 

Hilda  was  behind  the  counter,  a  cus 
tomer  watching  with  fascinated  eyes  the 
graceful,  swift  movements  of  her  arms 
and  hands  as  she  tied  up  a  bundle.  Her 
sleeves  were  rolled  to  her  dimpled  elbows, 
and  her  arms  were  round  and  strong  and 
white,  and  her  skin  was  fine  and  smooth. 
Her  shoulders  were  wide,  but  not  square ; 
her  hips  were  narrow,  her  wrists,  her  hands, 

18 


ENTER   MR.   FEUERSTEIN 

her  head,  small.    She  looked  healthy  and 
vigorous  and  useful  as  well  as  beautiful. 

When  the  customers  had  gone  Brauner 
said:  "Go  up  to  Schwartz  and  Heilig, 
daughter,  and  ask  them  for  two  two- 
pound  chickens.  And  tell  Otto  Heilig 
you'll  be  glad  to  see  him  to-morrow." 

"But  we  don't  need  the  chickens,  now. 
We — "  Hilda's  brow  contracted  and  her 
chin  came  out. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,"  said  her  father. 
"My  children  shall  not  sink  to  the  disre 
spect  of  these  days." 

"But  I  shan't  be  here  to-morrow!  I've 
made  another  engagement." 

"You  shall  be  here  to-morrow!  If  you 
don't  wish  young  Heilig  here  for  your 
own  sake,  you  must  show  consideration 
for  your  parents.  Are  they  to  be  deprived 
of  their  Sunday  afternoon?  You  have 
never  done  this  before,  Hilda.  You  have 
never  forgotten  us  before." 
19 


THE    FORTUNE   HUNTER 

Hilda  hung  her  head;  after  a  moment 
she  unrolled  her  sleeves,  laid  aside  her 
apron  and  set  out.  She  was  repentant 
toward  her  father,  but  she  felt  that  Otto 
was  to  blame.  She  determined  to  make 
him  suffer  for  it — how  easy  it  was  to  make 
him  suffer,  and  how  pleasant  to  feel  that 
this  big  fellow  was  her  slave!  She  went 
straight  up  to  him.  "So  you  complained 
of  me,  did  you?"  she  said  scornfully, 
though  she  knew  well  that  he  had  not,  that 
he  could  not  have  done  anything  that  even 
seemed  mean. 

He  flushed.  "No — no,"  he  stammered. 
"No,  indeed,  Hilda.  Don't  think—" 

She  looked  contempt.  "Well,  you've 
won.  Come  down  Sunday  afternoon.  I 
suppose  I'll  have  to  endure  it." 

"Hilda,  you're  wrong.  I  will  not 
come!"  He  was  angry,  but  his  mind  was 
confused.  He  loved  her  with  all  the 
strength  of  his  simple,  straightforward 

20 


ENTER    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

nature.  Therefore  he  appeared  at  his 
worst  before  her — usually  either  incoher 
ent  or  dumb.  It  was  not  surprising  that 
whenever  it  was  suggested  that  only  a 
superior  man  could  get  on  so  well  as  he 
did,  she  always  answered:  "He  works 
twice  as  hard  as  any  one  else,  and  you  don't 
need  much  brains  if  you'll  work  hard." 

She  now  cut  him  short.  "If  you  don't 
come  I'll  have  to  suffer  for  it,"  she  said. 
"You  must  come!  I'll  not  be  glad  to  see 
you.  But  if  you  don't  come  I'll  never 
speak  to  you  again!"  And  she  left  him 
and  went  to  the  other  counter  and  ordered 
the  chickens  from  Schwartz. 

Heilig  was  wretched, — another  of  those 
hideous  dilemmas  over  which  he  had  been 
stumbling  like  a  drunken  man  in  a  dark 
room  full  of  furniture  ever  since  he  let  his 
mother  go  to  Mrs.  Brauner  and  ask  her 
for  Hilda.  He  watched  Hilda's  splendid 
back,  and  fumbled  about,  upsetting  bot- 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

ties  and  rattling  dishes,  until  she  went  out 
with  a  glance  of  jeering  scorn.  Schwartz 
burst  out  laughing. 

"Anybody  could  tell  you  are  in  love,"  he 
said.  "Be  stiff  with  her,  Otto,  and  you'll 
get  her  all  right.  It  don't  do  to  let  a  woman 
see  that  you  care  about  her.  The  worse  you 
treat  the  women  the  better  they  like  it. 
When  they  used  to  tell  my  father  about 
some  woman  being  crazy  over  a  man,  he 
always  used  to  say,  'What  sort  of  a  scoun 
drel  is  he?'  That  was  good  sense." 

Otto  made  no  reply.  No  doubt  these 
maxims  were  sound  and  wise ;  but  how  was 
he  to  apply  them?  How  could  he  pretend 
indifference  when  at  sight  of  her  he  could 
open  his  jaws  only  enough  to  chatter 
them,  could  loosen  his  tongue  only  enough 
to  roll  it  thickly  about?  "I  can  work,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "and  I  can  pay  my  debts 
and  have  something  over;  but  when  it 
comes  to  love  I'm  no  good." 

22 


II 

BRASS  OUTSHINES  GOLD 

Hilda  returned  to  her  father's  shop  and 
was  busy  there  until  nine  o'clock.  Then 
Sophie  Liebers  came  and  they  went  into 
the  Avenue  for  a  walk.  They  pushed  their 
way  through  and  with  the  throngs  up 
into  Tompkins  Square — the  center  of  one 
of  the  several  vast  districts,  little  known 
because  little  written  about,  that  contain 
the  real  New  York  and  the  real  New 
Yorkers.  In  the  Square  several  thousand 
young  people  were  promenading,  many 
of  the  girls  walking  in  pairs,  almost  all 
the  young  men  paired  off,  each  with  a 
young  woman.  It  was  warm,  and  the  stars 
beamed  down  upon  the  hearts  of  young 
lovers,  blotting  out  for  them  electric  lights 
and  surrounding  crowds.  It  caused  no 

23 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

comment  there  for  a  young  couple  to  walk 
hand  in  hand,  looking  each  at  the  other 
with  the  expression  that  makes  common 
place  eyes  wonderful.  And  when  the 
sound  of  a  kiss  came  from  a  somewhat  se 
cluded  bench,  the  only  glances  cast  in  the 
direction  whence  it  had  come  were  glances 
of  approval  or  envy. 

"There's  Otto  Heilig  dogging  us,"  said 
Hilda  to  Sophie,  as  they  walked  up  and 
down.  "Do  you  wonder  I  hate  him?" 
They  talked  in  American,  as  did  all  the 
young  people,  except  with  those  of  their 
elders  who  could  speak  only  German. 

Sophie  was  silent.  If  Hilda  had  been 
noting  her  face  she  would  have  seen  a  look 
of  satisfaction. 

"I  can't  bear  him,'*  went  on  Hilda.  "No 
girl  could.  He's  so  stupid  and — and  com 
mon!"  Never  before  had  she  used  that 
last  word  in  such  a  sense.  Mr.  Feuerstein 
had  begun  to  educate  her. 

24 


BRASS    OUTSHINES    GOLD 

Sophie's  unobserved  look  changed  to 
resentment.  "Of  course  he's  not  equal  to 
Mr.  Feuerstein,"  she  said.  "But  he's  a 
very  nice  fellow — at  least  for  an  ordinary 
girl."  Sophie's  father  was  an  upholsterer, 
and  not  a  good  one.  He  owned  no  tene 
ments — was  barely  able  to  pay  the  rent 
for  a  small  corner  of  one.  Thus  her  sole 
dower  was  her  pretty  face  and  her  cun 
ning.  She  had  an  industrious,  scheming, 
not  overscrupulous  brain  and — her  hopes 
and  plans.  Nor  had  she  time  to  waste. 
For  she  was  nearer  twenty-three  than 
twenty-two,  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  mar 
riageable  age  of  Avenue  A,  which  believes 
in  an  early  start  at  what  it  regards  as  the 
main  business  of  life — the  family. 

"You  surely  couldn't  marry  such  a  man 
as  Otto!"  said  Hilda  absently.  Her  eyes 
were  searching  the  crowd,  near  and  far. 

Sophie  laughed.  "Beggars  can't  be 
choosers,"  she  answered.  "I  think  he's  all 

25 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

right — as  men  go.  It  wouldn't  do  for  me 
to  expect  too  much." 

Just  then  Hilda  caught  sight  of  Mr. 
Feuerstein — the  godlike  head,  the  glori 
ous  hair,  the  graceful  hat.  Her  manner 
changed — her  eyes  brightened,  her  cheeks 
reddened,  and  she  talked  fast  and  laughed 
a  great  deal.  As  they  passed  near  him  she 
laughed  loudly  and  called  out  to  Sophie  as 
if  she  were  not  at  her  elbow — she  feared 
he  would  not  see.  Mr.  Feuerstein  turned 
his  picturesque  head,  slowly  lifted  his  hat 
and  joined  them.  At  once  Hilda  became 
silent,  listening  with  rapt  attention  to  the 
commonplaces  he  delivered  in  sonorous, 
oracular  tones. 

As  he  deigned  to  talk  only  to  Hilda, 
who  was  walking  between  Sophie  and  him, 
Sophie  was  free  to  gaze  round.  She  spied 
Otto  Heilig  drooping  dejectedly  along. 
She  adroitly  steered  her  party  so  that  it 
crossed  his  path.  He  looked  up  to  find 
26 


BRASS    OUTSHINES    GOLD 

himself  staring  at  Hilda.  She  frowned  at 
this  disagreeable  apparition  into  her  hap 
piness,  and  quickened  her  step.  But 
Sophie,  without  letting  go  of  Hilda's 
hand,  paused  and  spoke  to  Otto.  Thus 
Hilda  was  forced  to  stop  and  to  say  un 
graciously:  "Mr.  Feuerstein,  Mr.  Hei- 


Then  she  and  Mr.  Feuerstein  went  on, 
and  Sophie  drew  the  reluctant  Otto  in  be 
hind  them.  She  gradually  slackened  her 
pace,  so  that  she  and  Heilig  dropped  back 
until  several  couples  separated  them  from 
Hilda  and  Mr.  Feuerstein.  A  few  min 
utes  and  Hilda  and  Mr.  Feuerstein  were 
seated  on  a  bench  in  the  deep  shadow  of  a 
tree,  Sophie  and  Heilig  walking  slowly  to 
and  fro  a  short  distance  away. 

Heilig  was  miserable  with  despondent 

jealousy.  He  longed  to  inquire  about  this 

remarkable-looking  new  friend  of  Hil 

da's.  For  Mr.  Feuerstein  seemed  to  be  of 

27 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

that  class  of  strangers  whom  Avenue  A 
condemns  on  their  very  appearance.  It 
associates  respectability  with  work  only, 
and  it  therefore  suspects  those  who  look 
as  if  they  did  not  work  and  did  not  know 
how.  Sophie  was  soon  answering  of  her 
own  accord  the  questions  Heilig  as  a  gen 
tleman  could  not  ask.  "You  must  have 
heard  of  Mr.  Feuerstein?  He's  an  actor — 
at  the  German  Theater.  I  don't  think  he's 
much  of  an  actor — he's  one  of  the  kind 
that  do  all  their  acting  off  the  stage." 

Heilig  laughed  unnaturally.  He  did 
not  feel  like  laughing,  but  wished  to  show 
his  gratitude  to  Sophie  for  this  shrewd 
blow  at  his  enemy.  "He's  rigged  out  like 
a  lunatic,  isn't  he?"  Otto  was  thinking  of 
the  long  hair,  the  low-rolling  shirt  collar 
and  the  velvet  collar  on  his  coat, — light 
gray,  to  match  his  hat  and  suit. 

"I  don't  see  what  Hilda  finds  in  him," 
continued  Sophie.  "It  makes  me  laugh  to 

28 


BRASS    OUTSHINES    GOLD 

look  at  him ;  and  when  he  talks  I  can  hard 
ly  keep  from  screaming  in  his  face.  But 
Hilda's  crazy  over  him,  as  you  see.  He 
tells  all  sorts  of  romances  about  him 
self,  and  she  believes  every  word.  I  think 
she'll  marry  him — you  know,  her  father 
lets  her  do  as  she  pleases.  Isn't  it  funny 
that  a  sensible  girl  like  Hilda  can  be  so 
foolish?" 

Heilig  did  not  answer  this,  nor  did  he 
heed  the  talk  on  love  and  marriage  which 
the  over-eager  Sophie  proceeded  to  give. 
And  it  was  talk  worth  listening  to,  as  it 
presented  love  and  marriage  in  the  inter 
esting,  romantic-sensible  Avenue  A  light. 
Otto  was  staring  gloomily  at  the  shadow 
of  the  tree.  He  would  have  been  gloomier 
could  he  have  witnessed  the  scene  to  which 
the  unmoral  old  elm  was  lending  its  im 
partial  shade. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  was  holding  Hilda's 
hand  while  he  looked  soulfully  down  into 
29 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

her  eyes.  She  was  returning  his  gaze,  her 
eyes  expressing  all  the  Schwdrmerei  of 
which  their  dark  depths  were  capable  at 
nineteen.  He  was  telling  her  what  a  high 
profession  the  actor's  was,  how  great  he 
was  as  an  actor,  how  commonplace  her  life 
there,  how  beautiful  he  could  make  it  if 
only  he  had  money.  It  was  an  experience 
to  hear  Mr.  Feuerstein  say  the  word 
"money."  Elocution  could  go  no  further 
in  surcharging  five  letters  with  contempt. 
His  was  one  of  those  lofty  natures  that 
scorn  all  such  matters  of  intimate  concern 
to  the  humble,  hard-pressed  little  human 
animal  as  food,  clothing  and  shelter.  He 
so  loathed  money  that  he  would  not  deign 
to  work  for  it,  and  as  rapidly  as  possible 
got  rid  of  any  that  came  into  his  posses 
sion. 

"Yes,  my  adorable  little  princess,"  he 
rolled  out,  in  the  tones  which  wove  a  spell 
over  Hilda.  "I  adore  you.  How  strange 
SO 


BRASS    OUTSHINES    GOLD 

that  I  should  have  wandered  into  this 
region  for  my  soul's  bride — and  should 
have  found  her!" 

Hilda  pressed  his  clasping  hand  and 
her  heart  fluttered.  But  she  was  as  silent 
and  shy  as  Heilig  with  her.  What  words 
had  she  fit  to  express  response  to  these 
exalted  emotions?  "I — I  feel  it,"  she  said 
timidly.  "But  I  can't  say  it  to  you.  You 
must  think  me  very  foolish." 

"No — you  need  not  speak.  I  know  what 
you  would  say.  Our  hearts  speak  each  to 
the  other  without  words,  my  beautiful 
jewel.  And  what  do  you  think  your  par 
ents  will  say  ?" 

"I — I  don't  know,"  stammered  Hilda. 
"They  are  so  set  on  my  marrying" — she 
glanced  toward  Otto — how  ordinary  he 
looked! — "marrying  another — a  merchant 
like  my  father.  They  think  only  of  what 
is  practical.  I'm  so  afraid  they  won't  un 
derstand — us/' 

3J 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Feuerstein  sighed — the  darkness  pre 
vented  her  from  seeing  that  he  was  also 
frowning  with  impatience  and  irritation. 
"But  it  must  be  settled  at  once,  my  heart's 
bride,"  he  said  gently.  "Secrecy,  decep 
tion  are  horrible  to  me.  And  I  am  mad  to 
claim  you  as  my  own.  I  could  not  take 
you  without  their  consent — that  would  be 
unworthy.  No,  I  could  not  grieve  their 
honest  hearts !" 

Hilda  was  much  disturbed.  She  was 
eminently  practical  herself,  aside  from  her 
fondness  for  romance,  which  Mr.  Feuer 
stein  was  developing  in  a  way  so  unnat 
ural  in  her  surroundings,  so  foreign  to 
her  education;  and  she  could  see  just  how 
her  father  would  look  upon  her  lover.  She 
feared  he  would  vent  plain  speech  that 
would  cut  Mr.  Feuerstein's  sensitive  soul 
and  embattle  his  dignity  and  pride  against 
his  love.  "I'll  speak  to  them  as  soon  as  I 
can,"  she  said. 

33 


BRASS    OUTSHINES    GOLD 

"Then  you  will  speak  to  them  to-mor 
row  or  next  day,  my  treasure,  and  I  shall 
see  you  on  Sunday  afternoon." 

"No — not  Sunday  afternoon.  I  must 
stay  at  home — father  has  ordered  it." 

"Disappointment  —  deception  —  post 
ponement!"  Feuerstein  struck  his  hand 
upon  his  brow  and  sighed  tragically. 
"Oh,  my  little  Erebus-haired  angel,  how 
you  do  test  my  love !" 

Hilda  was  almost  in  tears — it  was  all 
intensely  real  to  her.  She  felt  that  he  was 
superfine,  that  he  suffered  more  than  or 
dinary  folk,  like  herself  and  her  people. 
"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  she  pleaded. 

"It  would  be  best  for  you  to  introduce 
them  to  me  at  once  and  let  me  speak." 

"No — no,"  she  protested  earnestly,  ter 
ror  in  her  voice  and  her  hand  trembling  in 
his.  "That  would  spoil  everything.  You 
wouldn't  understand  them,  or  they  you. 
I'll  speak — and  see  you  Monday  night." 
33 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Let  it  be  so,"  he  conceded.  "But  I 
must  depart.  I  am  studying  a  new  role." 
He  had  an  engagement  to  take  supper 
with  several  of  his  intimates  at  the  Irving 
Place  cafe,  where  he  could  throw  aside  the 
heaviest  parts  of  his  pose  and  give  way  to 
his  appetite  for  beer  and  Schweizerkase 
sandwiches.  "How  happy  we  shall  be !"  he 
murmured  tenderly,  kissing  her  cheek  and 
thinking  how  hard  it  was  to  be  practical 
and  keep  remote  benefits  in  mind  when  she 
was  so  beautiful  and  so  tempting  and  so 
trustful.  He  said  aloud:  "I  am  impatient, 
soul's  delight!  Is  it  strange?"  And  he 
bowed  like  a  stage  courtier  to  a  stage 
queen  and  left  her. 

She  joined  Sophie  and  Heilig  and 
walked  along  in  silence,  Sophie  between 
Otto  and  her.  He  caught  glimpses  of  her 
face,  and  it  made  his  heart  ache  and  his 
courage  faint  to  see  the  love-light  in  her 
eyes — and  she  as  far  away  from  him  as 

34 


BRASS    OUTSHINES    GOLD 

Heaven  from  hell,  far  away  in  a  world 
from  which  he  was  excluded.  He  and 
Sophie  left  her  at  her  father's  and  he  took 
Sophie  home. 

Sophie  felt  that  she  had  done  a  fair 
evening's  work — not  progress,  hut  pro 
gress  in  sight.  "At  least,"  she  reflected, 
"he's  seeing  that  he  isn't  in  it  with  Hilda 
and  never  can  be.  I  must  hurry  her  on 
and  get  her  married  to  that  fool.  A  pair 
of  fools!" 

Heilig  found  his  mother  waiting  up  for 
him.  As  she  saw  his  expression,  anxiety 
left  her  face,  but  cast  a  deeper  shadow 
over  her  heart.  She  felt  his  sorrow  as 
keenly  as  he — she  who  would  have  laid 
down  her  life  for  him  gladly. 

"Don't  lose  heart,  my  big  boy,"  she  said, 
patting  him  on  the  shoulder  as  he  bent  to 
kiss  her. 

At  this  he  dropped  down  beside  her  and 
hid  his  face  in  her  lap  and  cried  like  the 

35 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

boy-man  that  he  was.  <cAch,  Gott,  mother, 
I  love  her  so!"  he  sobbed. 

Her  tears  fell  on  the  back  of  his  head. 
Her  boy — who  had  gone  so  bravely  to 
work  when  the  father  was  killed  at  his  ma 
chine,  leaving  them  penniless;  her  boy— 
who  had  laughed  and  sung  and  whistled 
and  diffused  hope  and  courage  and  made 
her  feel  that  the  burden  was  not  a  burden 
but  a  joy  for  his  strong,  young  shoulders. 

"Courage,  beloved!"  she  said.  "Hilda 
is  a  good  girl.  All  will  yet  be  well."  And 
she  felt  it — God  would  not  be  God  if  He 
could  let  this  heart  of  gold  be  crushed  to 
powder. 


Ill 

FORTUNE   FAVORS   THE   IMPUDENT 

Like  all  people  who  lead  useful  lives 
and  neither  have  nor  pretend  to  have  ac 
quired  tastes  for  fine-drawn  emotion,  Otto 
and  Hilda  indulged  in  little  mooning. 
They  put  aside  their  burdens — hers  of 
dread,  his  of  despair — and  went  about  the 
work  that  had  to  be  done  and  that  health 
fully  filled  almost  all  their  waking  mo 
ments  ;  and  when  bed-time  came  their  tired 
bodies  refused  either  to  sit  up  with  their 
brains  or  to  let  their  brains  stay  awake. 
But  it  was  gray  and  rainy  for  Hilda  and 
black  night  for  Otto. 

On  Sunday  morning  he  rose  at  half- 
past  three,  instead  of  at  four,  his  week-day 
rising  time.  Many  of  his  hard-working 
customers  were  astir  betimes  on  Sunday  to 
37 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

have  the  longer  holiday.  As  they  would 
spend  the  daylight  hours  in  the  country 
and  would  not  reach  home  until  after  the 
shop  had  closed,  they  bought  the  supplies 
for  a  cold  or  warmed-up  supper  before 
starting.  Otto  looked  so  sad — usually  he 
was  in  high  spirits — that  most  of  these 
early  customers  spoke  to  him  or  to  Joe 
Schwartz  about  his  health.  There  were 
few  of  them  who  did  not  know  what  was 
troubling  him.  Among  those  friendly  and 
unpretending  and  well-acquainted  people 
any  one's  affairs  were  every  one's  affairs 
— why  make  a  secret  of  what  was,  after 
all,  only  the  routine  of  human  life  the 
world  over  and  the  ages  through?  Thus 
Otto  had  the  lively  but  tactful  sympathy 
of  the  whole  community. 

He  became  less  gloomy  under  the 
warmth  of  this  succession  of  friendly 
faces  and  friendly  inquiries.  But  as  trade 
slackened,  toward  noon,  he  had  more  leis- 

38 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

ure  to  think,  and  the  throbbing  ache  re 
turned  to  his  heavy  heart.  All  the  time 
pictures  of  her  were  passing  before  his 
eyes.  He  had  known  her  so  long  and  she 
had  become  such  an  intimate  part  of  his 
daily  life,  so  interwoven  with  it,  that  he 
could  not  look  at  present,  past  or  future 
without  seeing  her. 

Why,  he  had  known  her  since  she  was  a 
baby.  Did  he  not  remember  the  day  when 
he,  a  small  boy  on  his  way  to  school,  had 
seen  her  toddle  across  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  him?  Could  he  ever  forget  how 
she  had  reached  with  great  effort  into  a 
snowbank,  had  dug  out  with  her  small, 
red-mittened  hands  a  chunk  of  snow,  and, 
lifting  it  high  above  her  head,  had  thrown 
it  weakly  at  him  with  such  force  that  she 
had  fallen  headlong  upon  the  sidewalk? 
He  had  seen  her  every  day  since  then — 
every  day! 

He  most  clearly  of  all  recalled  her  as  a 
39 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

school-girl.  Those  were  the  days  of  the 
German  bands  of  six  and  seven  and  even 
eight  pieces,  wandering  as  the  hand-or 
gans  do  now.  And  always  with  them  came 
a  swarm  of  little  girls  who  danced  when 
the  band  played,  and  of  little  boys  who  lis 
tened  and  watched.  He  had  often  fol 
lowed  her  as  she  followed  a  band,  all  day 
on  a  Saturday.  And  he  had  never  wearied 
of  watching  her  long,  slim  legs  twinkling 
tirelessly  to  the  music.  She  invented  new 
figures  and  variations  on  steps  which  the 
other  girls  adopted.  She  and  her  especial 
friends  became  famous  among  the  chil 
dren  throughout  the  East  Side;,  even 
grown  people  noted  the  grace  and  origi 
nality  of  a  particular  group  of  girls,  led 
by  a  black-haired,  slim-legged  one  who 
danced  with  all  there  was  of  her.  And  how 
their  mothers  did  whip  them  when  they  re 
turned  from  a  day  of  this  forbidden  joy! 
But  they  were  off  again  the  next  Saturday 

40 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

— who  would  not  pass  a  bad  five  minutes 
for  the  sake  of  hours  on  hours  of  delight? 

And  Hilda  was  gone  from  his  life,  was 
sailing  away  on  his  ship — was  it  not  his 
ship?  was  not  its  cargo  his  hopes  and 
dreams  and  plans? — was  sailing  away  with 
another  man  at  the  helm!  And  he  could 
do  nothing — must  sit  dumb  upon  the 
shore. 

At  half -past  twelve  he  closed  the  shop 
and,  after  the  midday  dinner  with  his 
mother,  went  down  to  Brauner's.  Hilda 
was  in  the  room  back  of  the  shop,  alone, 
and  so  agitated  with  her  own  affairs  that 
she  forgot  to  be  cold  and  contemptuous  to 
Otto.  He  bowed  to  her,  then  stood  staring 
at  the  framed  picture  of  Die  Wacht  am 
Rhein  as  if  he  had  never  before  seen  the 
wonderful  lady  in  red  and  gold  seated 
under  a  tree  and  gazing  out  over  the  river 
— all  the  verses  were  underneath.  When 
he  could  stare  at  it  no  longer  he  turned  to 

41 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  other  wall  where  hung  the  target  bear 
ing  the  marks  of  Paul  Brauner's  best  shots 
in  the  prize  contest  he  had  won.  But  he 
saw  neither  the  lady  watching  the  -Rhine 
nor  the  target  with  its  bullet  holes  all  in 
the  bull's-eye  ring,  and  its  pendent  festoon 
of  medals.  He  was  longing  to  pour  out  his 
love  for  her,  to  say  to  her  the  thousand 
things  he  could  say  to  the  image  of  her 
in  his  mind  when  she  was  not  near.  But 
he  could  only  stand,  an  awkward  figure, 
at  which  she  would  have  smiled  if  she  had 
seen  it  at  all. 

She  went  out  into  the  shop.  While  he 
was  still  trying  to  lay  hold  of  an  end  of 
the  spinning  tangle  of  his  thoughts  and 
draw  it  forth  in  the  hope  that  all  would 
follow,  she  returned,  fright  in  her  eyes. 
She  clasped  her  hands  nervously  and  her 
cheeks  blanched.  "Mr.  Feuerstein!"  she 
exclaimed.  "And  he's  coming  here!  What 
shallldo?' 

42 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

She  turned  upon  him  angrily — he  was 
the  convenient  vent  for  her  nervousness. 
"It's  all  your  fault!"  she  exclaimed. 
"They  want  to  force  me  to  marry  you. 
And  I  dare  not  bring  here  the  man  I  love." 

"My  fault?"  he  muttered,  dazed.  "I'm 
not  to  blame." 

"Stupid!  You're  always  in  the  way — no 
wonder  I  hate  you!"  She  was  clasping  and 
unclasping  her  hands,  trying  to  think,  not 
conscious  of  what  she  was  saying. 

"Hate  me?"  he  repeated  mechanically. 
"Oh,  no — surely  not  that.  No,  you 


can' 


"Be  still!  Let  me  think.  rAchl  Gottim 
Himmel!  He's  in  the  hall!"  She  sank 
wretchedly  into  a  chair.  "Can  you  do 
nothing  but  gape  and  mutter?"  In  her 
desperation  her  tone  was  appealing. 

"He  can  say  he  came  with  me,"  said 
Otto.  "I'll  stand  for  him." 

43 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Yes— yes!"  she  cried.  "That  will  do! 
Thank  you — thank  you!"  And  as  the 
knock  came  at  the  door  she  opened  it.  She 
had  intended  to  be  reproachful,  but  she 
could  not.  This  splendid,  romantic  crea 
ture,  with  his  graceful  hat  and  his  golden 
hair  and  his  velvet  collar,  was  too  compel 
ling,  too  overpowering.  Her  adoring  love 
put  her  at  a  hopeless  disadvantage.  "Oh— 
Mr.  Feuerstein,"  she  murmured,  her  color 
coming  and  going  with  the  rise  and  fall  of 
her  bosom. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  majestically  removed 
his  hat  and  turned  a  look  of  haughty  in 
quiry  upon  Otto.  Otto's  fists  clenched — 
he  longed  to  discuss  the  situation  in  the 
only  way  which  seemed  to  him  to  meet  its 
requirements. 

"Hilda,"  said  the  actor,  when  he 
thought  there  had  been  a  long  enough 
pause  for  an  imposing  entrance,  "I  have 
come  to  end  the  deception — to  make  you, 

44 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

before  the  world,  as  you  are  before  Al 
mighty  God,  my  affianced  bride." 

"You — you  mustn't,"  implored  Hilda, 
her  fears  getting  the  better  of  her  awe. 
"If  my  parents  learn  now — just  now,  they 
will — oh,  it  will  be  hopeless!" 

"I  can  not  delay,  angel  of  my  heart!" 
He  gave  her  the  look  that  is  the  theatrical 
convention  for  love  beyond  words.  "It 
must  be  settled  at  once.  I  must  know  my 
fate.  I  must  put  destiny  to  the  touch  and 
know  happiness  or — hell!" 

"Bah!"  thought  Otto.  "He  has  to 
hurry  matters — he  must  be  in  trouble. 
He's  got  to  raise  the  wind  at  once." 

"Mr.  Feuerstein— Carl!"  pleaded  Hil 
da.  "Please  try  to  be  practical."  She  went 
up  to  him,  and  Otto  turned  away,  unable 
to  bear  the  sight  of  that  look  of  love,  ten 
derness  and  trust.  "You  must  not — at 
least,  not  right  away."  She  turned  to 
Otto.  "Help  me,  Otto.  Explain  to  him-" 


THE    PORTUNE    HUNTER 

Heilig  tried  to  put  courtesy  in  his  voice 
as  he  said  to  Mr.  Feuerstein:  "Miss  Brau- 
ner  is  right.  You'll  only  wreck  her — her 
happiness.  We're  plain  people  down  here 
and  don't  understand  these  fine,  grand 
ways.  You  must  pass  as  my  friend  whom 
I  brought  here — but  I  make  one  condi 
tion."  He  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
at  Hilda.  For  the  first  time  she  heard 
him,  the  real  Otto  Heilig,  speak.  "Hilda," 
he  went  on,  "I  don't  want  to  hurt  you — 
I'd  do  anything  for  you,  except  hurt  you. 
And  I  can't  stand  for  this  f el —  for  Mr. 
Feuerstein,  unless  you'll  promise  me  you 
won't  marry  him,  no  matter  what  he  may 
say,  until  your  father  has  had  a  chance  to 
find  out  who  and  what  he  is." 

Mr.  Feuerstein  drew  himself  up  grand 
ly.  "Who  is  this  person,  Miss  Brauner?" 
he  demanded  with  haughty  coldness. 

"He  don't  know  any  better,"  she  replied 
hurriedly.  "He's  an  old  friend.  Trust  me, 
46 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

Mr.  Feuer — Carl!  Everything  depends 
on  it." 

"I  can  not  tolerate  this  coarse  hand  be 
tween  me  and  the  woman  I  love.  No  more 
deception!  Carl  Feuerstein" — how  he  did 
roll  out  that  name! — "can  guard  his  own 
honor  and  his  own  destiny." 

The  door  into  the  private  hall  opened 
and  in  came  Brauner  and  his  wife,  fine 
pictures  of  homely  content  triumphing 
over  the  discomforts  of  Sunday  clothes. 
They  looked  at  Mr.  Feuerstein  with  can 
didly  questioning  surprise.  Avenue  A  is 
not  afraid  to  look,  and  speak,  its  mind. 
Otto  came  forward.  "This  is  Mr.  Feuer 
stein,"  he  said. 

At  once  Brauner  showed  that  he  was 
satisfied,  and  Mrs.  Brauner  beamed.  "Oh, 
a  friend  of  yours,"  Brauner  said,  extend 
ing  his  hand.  "Glad  to  see  any  friend  of 
Otto's." 

Mr.  Feuerstein  advanced  impressively 
47 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

and  bowed  first  over  Brauner's  hand,  then 
over  Mrs.  Brauner's.  "I  am  not  a  friend 
of  this — young  man,"  he  said  with  the 
dignity  of  a  Hoheit.  "I  have  come  here  to 
propose  for  the  honor  of  your  daughter's 
hand  in  marriage." 

Mr.  Feuerstein  noted  the  stupefied  ex 
pression  of  the  delicatessen  dealer  and  his 
wife,  and  glanced  from  Otto  to  Hilda 
with  a  triumphant  smile.  But  Hilda  was 
under  no  delusion.  She  shivered  and 
moved  nearer  to  Otto.  She  felt  that  he 
was  her  hope  in  this  crisis  which  the  mad 
love  of  her  hero-lover  had  forced.  Brau- 
ner  was  the  more  angry  because  he  had 
been  thus  taken  by  surprise. 

"What  nonsense  is  this?'*  he  growled, 
shaking  his  head  violently.  "My  daughter 
is  engaged  to  a  plain  man  like  ourselves." 

At  this  Heilig  came  forward  again, 
pale  and  sad,  but  calm.  "No,  Mr.  Brau- 
ner — she  is  not  engaged.  I'm  sure  she 

48 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

loves  this  gentleman,  and  I  want  her  to  be 
happy.  I  can  not  be  anything  to  her  but 
her  friend.  And  I  want  you  to  give  him  a 
chance  to  show  himself  worthy  of  her." 

Brauner  burst  out  furiously  at  Hilda. 
The  very  presence  of  this  gaudy,  useless- 
looking  creature  under  his  roof  was  an  in 
sult  to  his  three  gods  of  honor  and  happi 
ness — his  "Arbeit  und  Liebe  und  Heim." 
"What  does  this  mean?"  he  shouted. 
"Where  did  you  find  this  crazy  fellow? 
Who  brought  him  here?" 

Hilda  flared.  "I  love  him,  father!  He's 
a  noble,  good  man.  I  shall  always  love 
him.  Listen  to  Otto — it'll  break  my  heart 
if  you  frown  on  my  marrying  the  man  I 
love."  There  was  a  touch  of  Mr.  Feuer- 
stein  in  her  words  and  tone. 

"Let's  have  our  game,  Mr.  Brauner," 
interrupted  Otto.  "All  this  can  be  settled 
afterward.  Why  spoil  our  afternoon?" 

Brauner  examined  Mr.  Feuerstein,  who 
49 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

was  posing  as  a  statue  of  gloomy  wrath. 
"Who  are  you?"  he  demanded  in  the  in 
sulting  tone  which  exactly  expressed  his 
state  of  mind. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  cast  up  his  eyes.  'Tor 
Hilda's  sake!"  he  murmured  audibly. 
Then  he  made  a  great  show  of  choking 
down  his  wrath.  "I,  sir,  am  of  an  ancient 
Prussian  family — a  gentleman.  I  saw 
your  peerless  daughter,  sought  an  intro 
duction,  careless  who  or  what  she  was  in 
birth  and  fortune.  Love,  the  leveler,  had 
conquered  me.  I — " 

"Do  you  work?"  Brauner  broke  in. 
"What  are  your  prospects?  What  have 
you  got?  What's  your  character?  Have 
you  any  respectable  friends  who  can  vouch 
for  you?  You've  wandered  into  the  wrong 
part  of  town.  Down  here  we  don't  give 
our  daughters  to  strangers  or  do-nothings 
or  rascals.  We  believe  in  love — yes.  But 
we  also  have  a  little  common  sense  and 

50 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

self-respect."  Brauner  flung  this  at  Mr. 
Feuerstein  in  High-German.  Hilda,  mor 
tified  and  alarmed,  was  also  proud  that  her 
father  was  showing  Mr.  Feuerstein  that 
she  came  of  people  who  knew  something, 
even  if  they  were  "trades-folk." 

"I  can  answer  all  your  questions  to  your 
satisfaction,"  replied  Mr.  Feuerstein  loft 
ily,  with  a  magnanimous  wave  of  his  white 
hand.  "My  friends  will  speak  for  me. 
And  I  shall  give  you  the  addresses  of  my 
noble  relatives  in  Germany,  though  I 
greatly  fear  they  will  oppose  my  mar 
riage.  You,  sir,  were  born  in  the  Father 
land.  You  know  their  prejudices." 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,"  said  Brauner 
ironically.  "Just  take  yourself  off  and 
spare  yourself  the  disgrace  of  mingling 
with  us  plain  folk.  Hilda,  go  to  your 
room!"  Brauner  pointed  the  stem  of  his 
pipe  toward  the  outside  door  and  looked 
meaningly  at  Mr.  Feuerstein. 

51 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Hilda,  her  eyes  sparkling  and  her 
cheeks  flushed,  put  herself  between  Mr. 
Feuerstein  and  the  door.  "I  guess  I've  got 
something  to  say  about  that!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "Father,  you  can't  make  me 
marry  Otto  Heilig.  I  hate  him.  I  guess 
this  is  a  free  country.  I  shall  marry  Mr. 
Feuer — Carl."  She  went  up  to  him  and 
put  her  arm  through  his  and  looked  up  at 
him  lovingly.  He  drew  her  to  him  protect- 
ingly,  and  for  an  instant  something  of  her 
passionate  enthusiasm  fired  him,  or  rather, 
the  actor  in  him. 

Otto  laid  his  hand  on  Brauner's  arm. 
"Don't  you  see,  sir,"  he  said  in  Low-Ger 
man,  very  earnestly,  "that  you're  driving 
her  to  him?  I  beg  you" — in  a  lower  tone 
— "for  the  sake  of  her  future — don't  drive 
him  out,  and  her  with  him.  If  he  really 
would  make  her  a  good  husband,  why  not 
let  her  have  him?  If  he's  not  what  he 
claims,  she  won't  have  him." 

52 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

Brauner  hesitated.  "But  she's  yours. 
Her  mother  and  I  have  promised.  We  are 
people  of  our  word." 

"But  I  won't  marry  her — not  unless 
she  wishes  it,  she  herself.  And  nothing 
can  be  done  until  this  man  has  had  a 
chance." 

It  was  evident  from  Brauner's  face  that 
he  was  yielding  to  this  common  sense. 
Hilda  looked  at  Otto  gratefully.  "Thank 
you,  Otto,"  she  said.  He  shook  his  head 
mournfully  and  turned  away. 

Brauner  gave  Mr.  Feuerstein  a  con 
temptuous  glance.  "Perhaps  Otto's  right," 
he  growled.  "You  can  stay.  Let  us  have 
our  game,  Otto.5> 

Mrs.  Brauner  hurried  to  the  kitchen  to 
make  ready  for  four-o'clock  coffee  and 
cake.  Hilda  arranged  the  table  for  pino 
chle,  and  when  her  father  and  Otto  were 
seated,  motioned  her  lover  to  a  seat  beside 
her  on  the  sofa. 

58 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Heart's  bride,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"I  am  prostrated  by  what  I  have  borne 
for  your  sake." 

"I  love  you,"  she  said  softly,  her  young 
eyes  shining  like  Titania's  when  she  was 
garlanding  her  ass-headed  lover.  "You 
were  right,  my  beloved.  We  shall  win — 
father  is  giving  in.  He's  very  good-na 
tured,  and  now  he's  used  to  the  idea  of 
our  love." 

Otto  lost  the  game,  and,  with  his  cus 
tomary  patience,  submitted  to  the  cus 
tomary  lecture  on  his  stupidity  as  a 
player.  Brauner  was  once  more  in  a  good 
humor.  Having  agreed  to  tolerate  Mr. 
Feuerstein,  he  was  already  taking  a  less 
unfavorable  view  of  him.  And  Mr.  Feuer 
stein  laid  himself  out  to  win  the  owner  of 
three  tenements.  He  talked  German  poli 
tics  with  him  in  High-German,  and  ap 
plauded  his  accent  and  his  opinions.  He 
told  stories  of  the  old  German  Emperor 

54 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

and  Bismarck,  and  finally  discovered  that 
Brauner  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  Schil 
ler.  He  saw  a  chance  to  make  a  double 
stroke — to  please  Brauner  and  to  feed  his 
own  vanity. 

"With  your  permission,  sir,"  he  said,  "I 
will  give  a  soliloquy  from  Wallenstein" 

Brauner  went  to  the  door  leading  down 
the  private  hall.  "Mother!"  he  called. 
"Come  at  once.  Mr.  Feuerstein's  going  to 
act." 

Hilda  was  bubbling  over  with  delight. 
Otto  sat  forgotten  in  the  corner.  Mrs. 
Brauner  came  bustling,  her  face  rosy  from 
the  kitchen  fire  and  her  hands  moist  from 
a  hasty  washing.  Mr.  Feuerstein  waited 
until  all  were  seated  in  front  of  him.  He 
then  rose  and  advanced  with  stately  tread 
toward  the  clear  space.  He  rumpled  his 
hair,  drew  down  his  brows,  folded  his 
arms,  and  began  a  melancholy,  princely 
pacing  of  the  floor.  With  a  suddenness 

55 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

that  made  them  start,  he  burst  out  thun 
derously.  He  strode,  he  roared,  he  rolled 
his  eyes,  he  waved  his  arms,  he  tore  at  his 
hair.  It  was  Wallenstein  in  a  soul-sweat. 
The  floor  creaked,  the  walls  echoed.  His 
ingenuous  auditors,  except  Otto,  listened 
and  looked  with  bated  breath.  They  were 
as  vastly  impressed  as  is  a  drawing-room 
full  of  culture-hunters  farther  up  town 
when  a  man  discourses  to  them  on  a  sub 
ject  of  which  he  knows  just  enough  for  a 
wordy  befuddling  of  their  ignorance. 
And  the  burst  of  applause  which  greeted 
the  last  bellowing  groan  was  full  as 
hearty  as  that  which  greets  the  bad  sing 
ing  or  worse  playing  at  the  average  mu- 
sicale. 

Swollen  with  vanity  and  streaming  with 
sweat,  Mr.  Feuerstein  sat  down.  "Good, 
Mr.  Feuerstein — ah!  it  is  grand!"  said 
Brauner.  Hilda  looked  at  her  lover  proud 
ly.  Otto  felt  that  the  recitation  was  idi- 
56 


FORTUNE    FAVORS 

otic — "Nobody  ever  carried  on  like  that," 
he  said  to  himself.  But  he  also  felt  the 
pitiful  truth,  "I  haven't  got  a  ghost  of  a 
chance." 

He  rose  as  soon  as  he  could  muster  the 
courage.  "I  must  get  back  and  help 
Schwartz  open  up,"  he  said,  looking  round 
forlornly.  "It's  five  o'clock." 

"You  must  stay  to  coffee,"  insisted 
Mrs.  Brauner.  It  should  have  been  served 
before,  but  Mr.  Feuerstein's  exhibition 
had  delayed  it. 

"No— I  must  work,"  he  replied.  "It's 
five  o'clock." 

"That's  right,"  said  Brauner  with  an 
approving  nod.  "Business  first!  I  must 
go  in  myself — and  you,  too,  Hilda."  The 
late  Sunday  afternoon  opening  was  for  a 
very  important  trade. 

Hilda  blushed — the  descent  from  the 
romantic  to  the  practical  jarred  upon  her. 
But  Mr.  Feuerstein  rose  and  took  leave 
57 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

most  graciously.  "May  I  return  this  even 
ing?"  he  said  to  Brauner. 

"Always  glad  to  see  our  friends,"  an 
swered  Brauner  with  a  shamefaced,  apol 
ogetic  look  at  Otto. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  Otto,  just 
closing  his  shop,  saw  Mr.  Feuerstein  and 
Hilda  pass  on  their  way  toward  Tompkins 
Square.  A  few  minutes  later  Sophie  came 
along.  She  paused  and  tried  to  draw  him 
into  conversation.  But  he  answered  briefly 
and  absently,  gradually  retreating  into  the 
darkness  of  his  shop  and  pointedly  draw 
ing  the  door  between  him  and  her.  Sophie 
went  on  her  way  downcast,  but  not  in  the 
least  disheartened.  "When  Hilda  is  Mrs. 
Feuerstein,"  she  said  to  herself. 


58 


IV 

A  BOLD  DASH   AND  A  DISASTER 

Mr.  Feuerstein's  evening  was  even  more 
successful  than  his  afternoon.  Brauner 
was  still  grumbling.  Mr.  Feuerstein  could 
not  possibly  be  adjusted  in  his  mind  to  his 
beloved  ideals,  his  religion  of  life — "Ar 
beit  und  Liebe  und  Heim"  Still  he  was 
yielding  and  Hilda  saw  the  signs  of  it. 
She  knew  he  was  practically  won  over  and 
was  secretly  inclined  to  be  proud  that  his 
daughter  had  made  this  exalted  conquest. 
All  men  regard  that  which  they  do  not 
know  either  with  extravagant  awe  or  with 
extravagant  contempt.  While  Brauner 
had  the  universal  human  failing  for  at 
taching  too  much  importance  to  the  de 
partment  of  human  knowledge  in  which 
he  was  thoroughly  at  home,  he  had  the 
59 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

American  admiration  for  learning,  for 
literature,  and  instead  of  spelling  them 
with  a  very  small  "1,"  as  "practical"  men 
sometimes  do  with  age  and  increasing 
vanity,  he  spelled  them  with  huge  capi 
tals,  erecting  them  into  a  position  out  of 
all  proportion  to  their  relative  importance 
in  the  life  of  the  human  animal. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  had  just  enough  know 
ledge  to  enable  him  to  play  upon  this 
weakness,  this  universal  human  suscepti 
bility  to  the  poison  of  pretense.  All  doubt 
of  success  fled  his  mind,  and  he  was  free  to 
indulge  his  vanity  and  his  contempt  for 
these  simple,  unpretending  people.  "So 
vulgar!"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  left  their 
house  that  night — he  who  knew  how  to  do 
nothing  of  use  or  value.  "It  is  a  great  con 
descension  for  me.  Working  people — 
ugh!" 

As  he  strolled  up  town  he  was  spending 
in  fancy  the  income  from  at  least  two,  per- 
60 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

haps  all  three,  flat-houses — "The  shop's 
enough  for  the  old  people  and  that  dumb 
ass  of  a  brother.  I'll  elevate  the  family. 
Yes,  I  think  I'll  run  away  with  Hilda  to 
morrow — that's  the  safest  plan." 

Otto  had  guessed  close  to  the  truth 
about  Feuerstein's  affairs.  They  were  in 
a  desperate  tangle.  He  had  been  dis 
charged  from  the  stock  company  on  Sat 
urday  night.  He  was  worthless  as  an 
actor,  and  had  the  hostility  of  the  manage 
ment  and  of  his  associates.  His  landlady 
had  got  the  news  promptly  from  a  boarder 
who  paid  in  part  by  acting  as  a  sort  of 
mercantile  agency  for  her  in  watching  her 
very  uncertain  boarders.  She  had  given 
him  a  week's  notice,  and  had  so  arranged 
matters  that  if  he  fled  he  could  not  take  his 
meager  baggage.  He  was  down  to  eighty- 
five  cents  of  a  borrowed  dollar.  He  owed 
money  everywhere  in  sums  ranging  from 
five  dollars  to  twenty-five  cents.  The  most 
61 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

of  these  debts  were  in  the  form  of  half- 
dollar  borrowings.  He  had  begun  his  New 
York  career  with  loans  of  "five  dollars  un 
til  Thursday — I'm  a  little  pressed."  Soon 
it  became  impossible  for  him  to  get  more 
than  a  dollar  at  a  time  even  from  the  wom 
en,  except  an  occasional  windfall  through 
a  weak  or  ignorant  new  acquaintance.  He 
clung  tenaciously  to  the  fifty-cent  basis — 
to  go  lower  would  cheapen  him.  But  for 
the  last  two  weeks  his  regular  levies  had 
been  of  twenty-five  cents,  with  not  a  few 
descents  to  ten  and  even  five  cents. 

He  reached  Goerwitz's  at  ten  o'clock 
and  promenaded  slowly  through  both 
rooms  twice.  Just  as  he  was  leaving  he 
espied  an  acquaintance  who  was  looking 
fiercely  away  from  him  as  if  saying:  "I 
don't  see  you,  and,  damn  you,  don't  you 
dare  see  me!"  But  Feuerstein  advanced 
boldly.  Twelve  years  of  active  member 
ship  in  that  band  of  "beats"  which  patrols 
62 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

every  highway  and  byway  and  private 
way  of  civilization  had  thickened  and 
toughened  his  skin  into  a  hide.  "Good 
evening,  Albers,"  he  said  cordially,  with 
a  wave  of  the  soft,  light  hat.  "I  see  you 
have  a  vacant  place  in  your  little  circle. 
Thank  you!"  He  assumed  that  Albers  had 
invited  him,  took  a  chair  from  another 
table  and  seated  himself.  Social  courage 
is  one  of  the  rarest  forms  of  courage.  Al 
bers  grew  red  but  did  not  dare  insult  such 
a  fine-looking  fellow  who  seemed  so  hearty 
and  friendly.  He  surlily  introduced  Feu- 
erstein  to  his  friends — two  women  and  two 
men.  Feuerstein  ordered  a  round  of  beer 
with  the  air  of  a  prince  and  without  the 
slightest  intention  of  paying  for  it. 

The  young  woman  of  the  party  was 
seated  next  to  him.  Even  before  he  sat 
he  recognized  her  as  the  daughter  of 
Ganser,  a  rich  brewer  of  the  upper  East 
Side.  He  had  placed  himself  deliberately 
63 


.THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

beside  her,  and  he  at  once  began  advances. 
She  showed  at  a  glance  that  she  was  a 
silly,  vain  girl.  Her  face  was  fat  and  dull ; 
she  had  thin,  stringy  hair.  She  was  flabby 
and,  in  the  lazy  life  to  which  the  Gansers' 
wealth  and  the  silly  customs  of  prosperous 
people  condemned  her,  was  already  begin 
ning  to  expand  in  the  places  where  she 
could  least  afford  it. 

He  made  amorous  eyes  at  her.  He 
laughed  enthusiastically  at  her  foolish 
speeches.  He  addressed  his  pompous  plat 
itudes  exclusively  to  her.  Within  an  hour 
he  pressed  her  hand  under  the  table  and 
sighed  dramatically.  When  she  looked  at 
him  he  started  and  rolled  his  great  eyes 
dreamily  away.  Never  before  had  she  re 
ceived  attentions  that  were  not  of  the 
frankest  and  crudest  practical  nature.  She 
was  all  in  a  flutter  at  having  thus  unex 
pectedly  come  upon  appreciation  of  the 
beauties  and  merits  her  mirror  told  her  she 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

possessed.  When  Mrs.  Schoenberg,  her 
aunt,  rose  to  go,  she  gave  Feuerstein  a 
chance  to  say  in  a  low  aside:  "My  queen! 
To-morrow  at  eleven  —  at  Blooming- 
dale's."  Her  blush  and  smile  told  him  she 
would  be  there. 

All  left  except  Feuerstein  and  a  youth 
he  had  been  watching  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eyes — young  Dippel,  son  of  the  rich 
drug-store  man.  Feuerstein  saw  that  Dip- 
pel  was  on  the  verge  of  collapse  from  too 
much  drink.  As  he  still  had  his  eighty-five 
cents,  he  pressed  Dippel  to  drink  and,  by 
paying,  induced  him  to  add  four  glasses 
of  beer  to  his  already  top-heavy  burden. 

"Mus'  go  home,"  said  Dippel  at  last,  ris 
ing  abruptly. 

Feuerstein  walked  with  him,  taking  his 
arm  to  steady  him.  "Let's  have  one  more," 
he  said,  drawing  him  into  a  saloon,  gently 
pushing  him  to  a  seat  at  a  table  and  order 
ing  whisky.  After  the  third  large  drink, 
65 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Dippel  became  helpless  and  maudlin  and 
began  to  overflow  with  generous  senti 
ments.  "I  love  you,  Finkelstern,  ol'  man," 
he  declared  tearfully.  "They  say  you're  a 
dead  beat,  but  wha'  d'l  care?" 

"Finkelstern,"  affecting  drunkenness, 
shed  tears  on  Dippel's  shoulder,  denied 
that  he  was  a  "beat"  and  swore  that  he 
loved  Dippel  like  a  brother.  "You're  my 
f  rien',"  he  said.  "I  know  you'd  trust  me  to 
any  amount.'* 

Dippel  took  from  his  trousers  pocket  a 
roll  of  bills  several  inches  thick.  Feuer- 
stein  thrilled  and  his  eyes  grew  eloquent  as 
he  noted  tens  and  twenties  and  at  least  one 
fifty.  Slowly,  and  with  exaggerated  care, 
Dippel  drew  off*  a  ten.  "There  y'are,  ol' 
dead  beat,"  he  said.  "I'll  stake  you  a  ten. 
Lots  more  where  that  came  from — soda- 
fountain  counter's  reg'lar  gol'  mine." 

In  taking  off  the  ten,  he  dropped  a 
twenty.  It  fluttered  to  the  floor  and  the 
66 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

soldier  of  fortune,  the  scorner  of  toil  and 
toilers,  slid  his  foot  over  it  as  swiftly  and 
naturally  as  a  true  aristocrat  always  covers 
an  opportunity  to  get  something  some 
body  else  has  earned.  He  put  the  ten  in  his 
pocket;  when  Dippel's  eyes  closed  he 
stooped  and  retrieved  the  twenty  with 
stealth — and  skill.  When  the  twenty  was 
hidden,  and  the  small  but  typical  opera 
tion  in  high  finance  was  complete,  he 
shook  Dippel.  "I  say,  old  man,"  he  said, 
"hadn't  you  better  let  me  keep  your  money 
for  you?  I'm  afraid  you'll  lose  it." 

Dippel  slowly  unclosed  one  eye  and 
gave  him  a  look  of  glassy  cunning.  He 
again  drew  the  roll  from  his  pocket,  and, 
clasping  it  tightly  in  his  fist,  waved  it  un 
der  Feuerstein's  nose.  As  he  did  it,  he 
vented  a  drunken  chuckle.  "Soda  foun 
tain's  gol'  mine,  Fishenspiel,"  he  said 
thickly.  "No,  you  don't!  I  can  watch  my 
own  roll."  He  winked  and  chuckled. 
67 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  Fishy,"  he  went 
on,  with  a  leer.  Then  he  took  off  another 
ten  and  handed  it  to  Feuerstein.  "Good 
f  el',  Fishy,"  he  mumbled,  "  'f  y'  are  a 
dead  beat." 

Feuerstein  added  the  ten  to  the  thirty 
and  ordered  more  whisky.  Dippel  tried  to 
doze,  but  he  would  not  permit  it.  "He 
mustn't  sleep  any  of  it  off,"  he  thought. 

When  the  whisky  came  Dippel  shook 
himself  together  and  started  up.  "G'- 
night,"  he  said,  trying  to  stand,  look  and 
talk  straight.  "Don't  f 'rget,  y'owe  me  ten 
dollarses — no,  two  ten  dollarses." 

"Oh,  sit  down,"  coaxed  Feuerstein,  tak 
ing  him  by  the  arm.  "It's  early  yet." 

Dippel  shook  him  off  with  much  dig 
nity.  "Don'  touch  me!"  he  growled.  "I 
know  what  I'm  'bout.  I'm  goin'  home." 
Then  to  himself,  but  aloud:  "Dippy, 
you're  too  full  f 'r  utterance — you  mus' 
shake  this  beat."  Again  to  Feuerstein: 
68 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

"G'night,  Mr.  Funkelshine—g  night.  Sit 
there  till  I'm  gone." 

Feuerstein  rose  to  follow  and  Dippel 
struck  at  him.  The  waiter  seized  each  by 
the  shoulder  and  flung  them  through  the 
swinging  doors.  Dippel  fell  in  a  heap 
on  the  sidewalk,  but  Feuerstein  succeeded 
in  keeping  to  his  feet.  He  went  to  the  as 
sistance  of  Dippel. 

"Don't  touch  me,"  shouted  Dippel. 
"Police!  Police!" 

Feuerstein  looked  fearfully  round, 
gave  Dippel  a  kick  and  hurried  away. 
When  he  glanced  back  from  a  safe  dis 
tance  Dippel  was  waving  to  and  fro  on 
his  wobbling  legs,  talking  to  a  cabman. 
"Close-fisted  devil,"  muttered  Feuerstein. 
"He  couldn't  forget  his  money  even  when 
he  was  drunk.  What  good  is  money  to  a 
brute  like  him?"  And  he  gave  a  sniff  of 
contempt  for  the  vulgarity  and  meanness 
of  Dippel  and  his  kind. 
69 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Early  the  next  morning  he  established 
a  modus  Vivendi  with  his  landlady  by  giv 
ing  her  ten  dollars  on  account.  He  had  an 
elaborate  breakfast  at  Terrace  Garden 
and  went  to  Bloomingdale's,  arriving  at 
eleven  precisely.  Lena  Ganser  was  al 
ready  there,  pretending  to  shop  at  a  coun 
ter  in  full  view  of  the  appointed  place. 
They  went  to  Terrace  Garden  and  sat  in 
the  Stube.  He  at  once  opened  up  his  sud 
den  romantic  passion.  "All  night  I  have 
walked  the  streets,"  he  said,  "dreaming 
of  you."  When  he  had  fully  informed 
her  of  the  state  of  his  love-maddened  mind 
toward  her,  he  went  on  to  his  most  con 
genial  topic — himself. 

"You  have  heard  of  the  Freiherr  von 
Feuerstein,  the  great  soldier?"  he  asked 
her. 

Lena  had  never  heard  of  him.  But  she 
did  not  know  who  was  German  Emperor 
or  even  who  was  President  of  the  United 
70 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

States.  She,  therefore,  had  to  be  extreme 
ly  cautious.  She  nodded  assent. 

"My  uncle,"  said  Feuerstein  impressive 
ly.  His  eyes  became  reflective.  "Strange!" 
he  exclaimed  in  tender  accents,  soliloquiz 
ing — "strange  where  romance  will  lead  us. 
Instead  of  remaining  at  home,  in  ease  and 
luxury,  here  am  I — an  actor — a  wanderer 
* — roaming  the  earth  in  search  of  the  heart 
that  Heaven  intended  should  be  wedded  to 
mine."  He  fixed  his  gaze  upon  Lena's  fat 
face  with  the  expression  that  had  made 
Hilda's  soul  fall  down  and  worship. 
"And — I  have  found  it!"  He  drew  in  and 
expelled  a  vast  breath.  "At  last!  My  soul 
is  at  rest.'5 

Lena  tried  to  look  serious  in  imitation 
of  him,  but  that  was  not  her  way  of  ex 
pressing  emotion.  She  made  a  brief  strug 
gle,  then  collapsed  into  her  own  mode — a 
vain,  delighted,  giggling  laugh. 

"tWhy  do  you  smile?"  he  asked  sternly. 
71 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

He  revolted  from  this  discord  to  his  sym 
phony. 

She  sobered  with  a  frightened,  depre 
cating  look.  "Don't  mind  me,"  she  plead 
ed.  "Pa  says  I'm  a  fool.  I  was  laughing 
because  I'm  happy.  You're  such  a  sweet, 
romantic  dream  of  a  man." 

Feuerstein  was  not  particular  either  as 
to  the  quality  or  as  to  the  source  of  his 
vanity- food.  He  accepted  Lena's  offering 
with  a  condescending  nod  and  smile.  They 
talked,  or,  rather,  he  talked  and  she  lis 
tened  and  giggled  until  lunch  time.  As 
the  room  began  to  fill,  they  left  and  he 
walked  home  with  her. 

"You  can  come  in,"  she  said.  "Pa  won't 
be  home  to  lunch  to-day  and  ma  lets  me  do 
as  I  please." 

The  Gansers  lived  in  East  Eighty-first 
Street,  in  the  regulation  twenty-five-foot 
brownstone  house.  And  within,  also,  it 
was  of  a  familiar  New  York  type.  It  was 

72 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

the  home  of  the  rich,  vain  ignoramus  who 
has  not  taste  enough  to  know  that  those 
to  whom  he  has  trusted  for  taste  have 
shockingly  betrayed  him.  Ganser  had  be 
gun  as  a  teamster  for  a  brewery  and  had 
grown  rapidly  rich  late  in  life.  He  hap 
pened  to  be  elected  president  of  a  big 
Verein  and  so  had  got  the  notion  that  he 
was  a  person  of  importance  and  attain 
ments  beyond  his  fellows.  Too  coarse  and 
narrow  and  ignorant  to  appreciate  the  ele 
vated  ideals  of  democracy,  he  reverted  to 
the  European  vulgarities  of  rank  and 
show.  He  decided  that  he  owed  it  to  him 
self  and  his  family  to.live  in  the  estate  of 
"high  folks."  He  bought  a  house  in  what 
was  for  him  an  ultra-fashionable  quarter, 
and  called  for  bids  to  furnish  it  in  the 
latest  style.  The  results  were  even  more 
regardless  of  taste  than  of  expense — car 
pets  that  fought  with  curtains,  pictures 
that  quarreled  with  their  frames  and  with 
73 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  walls,  upholstery  so  bellicose  that  it 
seemed  perilous  to  sit  upon. 

But  Feuerstein  was  as  impressed  as  the 
Gansers  had  been  the  first  time  they  be 
held  the  gorgeousness  of  their  palace.  He 
looked  about  with  a  proprietary  sense — 
"I'll  marry  this  little  idiot,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "Maybe  my  nest  won't  be  downy, 
and  maybe  I  won't  lie  at  my  ease  in  iti" 

He  met  Mrs.  Ganser  and  had  the  op 
portunity  to  see  just  what  Lena  would 
look  and  be  twenty  years  thence.  Mrs. 
Ganser  moved  with  great  reluctance  and 
difficulty.  She  did  not  speak  unless  forced 
and  then  her  voice  seemed  to  have  felt  its 
way  up  feebly  through  a  long  and  pain 
fully  narrow  passage,  emerging  thin,  low 
and  fainting.  When  she  sat — or,  rather, 
as  she  sat,  for  she  was  always  sitting — her 
mountain  of  soft  flesh  seemed  to  be  slowly 
collapsing  upon  and  around  the  chair  like 
a  lump  of  dough  on  a  mold.  Her  only  in- 
74 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

terest  in  life  was  disclosed  when  she  was 
settled  and  settling  at  the  luncheon  table. 
She  used  her  knife  more  than  her  fork  and 
her  fingers  more  than  either.  Feuerstein 
left  soon  after  luncheon,  lingering  only 
long  enough  to  give  Lena  a  theatrical  em 
brace.  "Well,  I'll  not  spend  much  time 
with  those  women,  once  I'm  married,"  he 
reflected  as  he  went  down  the  steps ;  and  he 
thought  of  Hilda  and  sighed. 

The  next  day  but  one  he  met  Lena  in 
the  edge  of  the  park  and,  after  gloomy 
silence,  shot  with  strange  piercing  looks 
that  made  her  feel  as  if  she  were  the  hero 
ine  of  a  book,  he  burst  forth  with  a  de 
mand  for  immediate  marriage. 

"Forty-eight  hours  of  torment!"  he 
cried.  "I  shall  not  leave  you  again  until 
you  are  securely  mine." 

He  proceeded  to  drop  vague,  adroit 
hints  of  the  perils  that  beset  a  fascinating 
75 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

actor's  life,  of  the  women  that  had  come 
and  gone  in  his  life.  And  Lena,  all 
a-tremble  with  jealous  anxiety,  was  in  the 
parlor  of  a  Lutheran  parsonage,  with  the 
minister  reading  out  of  the  black  book,  be 
fore  she  was  quite  aware  that  she  and  her 
cyclonic  adorer  were  not  still  promenading 
near  the  green-house  in  the  park.  "Now," 
said  Feuerstein  briskly,  as  they  were  once 
more  in  the  open  air,  "we'll  go  to  your 
father." 

"Goodness  gracious,  no,"  protested  Le 
na.  "You  don't  know  him — he'll  be  crazy 
— just  crazy!  We  must  wait  till  he  finds 
out  about  you — then  he'll  be  very  proud. 
He  wanted  a  son-in-law  of  high  social 
standing — a  gentleman." 

"We  will  go  home,  I  tell  you,"  replied 
Feuerstein  firmly — his  tone  was  now  the 
tone  of  the  master.  All  the  sentiment  was 
out  of  it  and  all  the  hardness  in  it. 

Lena  felt  the  change  without  under- 
76 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

standing  it.  "I  bet  you,  pa'll  make  you 
wish  you'd  taken  my  advice,"  she  said  sul 
lenly. 

But  Feuerstein  led  her  home.  They 
went  up  stairs  where  Mrs.  Ganser  was 
seated,  looking  stupidly  at  a  new  bonnet 
as  she  turned  it  slowly  round  on  one  of 
her  cushion-like  hands.  Feuerstein  went  to 
her  and  kissed  her  on  the  hang  of  her 
cheek.  "Mother!"  he  said  in  a  deep,  mov 
ing  voice. 

Mrs.  Ganser  blinked  and  looked  help 
lessly  at  Lena. 

"I'm  married,  ma,"  explained  Lena. 
"It's  Mr.  Feuerstein."  And  she  gave  her 
silly  laugh. 

Mrs.  Ganser  grew  slowly  pale.  "Your 
father,"  she  at  last  succeeded  in  articulat 
ing.  "Ach!"  She  lifted  her  arm,  thick  as 
a  piano  leg,  and  resumed  the  study  of  her 
new  bonnet. 

"Won't  you  welcome  me,  mother?" 
77 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

asked  Feuerstein,  his  tone  and  attitude 
dignified  appeal. 

Mrs.  Ganser  shook  her  huge  head 
vaguely.  "See  Peter,"  was  all  she  said. 

They  went  down  stairs  and  waited,  Le 
na  silent,  Feuerstein  pacing  the  room  and 
rehearsing,  now  aloud,  now  to  himself,  the 
scene  he  would  enact  with  his  father-in- 
law.  Peter  was  in  a  frightful  humor  that 
evening.  His  only  boy,  who  spent  his 
mornings  in  sleep,  his  afternoons  in  speed 
ing  horses  and  his  evenings  in  carousal, 
had  come  down  upon  him  for  ten  thousand 
dollars  to  settle  a  gambling  debt.  Peter 
was  willing  that  his  son  should  be  a  gen 
tleman  and  should  conduct  himself  like 
one.  But  he  had  worked  too  hard  for  his 
money  not  to  wince  as  a  plain  man  at  what 
he  endured  and  even  courted  as  a  seeker 
after  position  for  the  house  of  Ganser. 
He  had  hoped  to  be  free  to  vent  his  ill- 
humor  at  home.  He  was  therefore  irri- 
78 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

tated  by  the  discovery  that  an  outsider  was 
there  to  check  him.  As  he  came  in  he  gave 
Feuerstein  a  look  which  said  plainly: 
"And  who  are  you,  and  how  long  are  you 
going  to  intrude  yourself?" 

But  Feuerstein,  absorbed  in  the  role  he 
had  so  carefully  thought  out,  did  not  note 
his  unconscious  father-in-law's  face.  He 
extended  both  his  hands  and  advanced 
grandly  upon  fat,  round  Peter.  "My  fa 
ther!"  he  exclaimed  in  his  classic  German. 
"Forgive  my  unseemly  haste  in  plucking 
without  your  permission  the  beautiful 
flower  I  found  within  reach." 

Peter  stepped  back  and  gave  a  hoarse 
grunt  of  astonishment.  His  red  face  be 
came  redder  as  he  glared,  first  at  Feuer 
stein,  then  at  Lena.  "What  lunatic  is  this 
you've  got  here,  daughter?"  he  demanded. 

"My  father!"  repeated  Feuerstein, 
drawing  Lena  to  him. 

Ganser's  mouth  opened  and  shut  slowly 
79 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

several  times  and  his  whiskers  bristled. 
"Is  this  fellow  telling  the  truth?"  he  asked 
Lena  in  a  tone  that  made  her  shiver  and 
shrink  away  from  her  husband. 

She  began  to  cry.  "He  made  me  do  it, 
pa,"  she  whined.  "I— I—" 

"Go  to  your  mother,"  shouted  Ganser, 
pointing  his  pudgy  finger  tremulously  to 
ward  the  door.  "Move!" 

Lena,  drying  her  eyes  with  her  sleeve, 
fled.  Feuerstein  became  a  sickly  white. 
When  she  had  disappeared,  Ganser  looked 
at  him  with  cruel  little  eyes  that  sparkled. 
Feuerstein  quailed.  It  was  full  half  a 
minute  before  Ganser  spoke.  Then  he 
went  up  to  Feuerstein,  stood  on  tiptoe 
and,  waving  his  arms  frantically  above  his 
head,  yelled  into  his  face  "Rindsvieli!" — 
as  contemptuous  an  insult  as  one  German 
can  fling  at  another. 

"She  is  my  lawful  wife,"  said  Feuer 
stein  with  an  attempt  at  his  pose. 
30 


A  BOLD  DASH  AND  A  DISASTER 

"Get  the  house  aus — quick! — aus! — 
gleich! — Lump! — I  call  the  police!" 

"I  demand  my  wife!"  exclaimed  Feuer- 
stein. 

Ganser  ran  to  the  front  door  and  opened 
it.  "Out!"  he  shrieked.  "If  you  don't,  I 
have  you  taken  in  when  the  police  come  the 
block  down.  This  is  my  house!  Rinds- 
viehr 

Feuerstein  caught  up  his  soft  hat  from 
the  hall  table  and  hurried  out.  As  he 
passed,  Ganser  tried  to  kick  him  but  failed 
ludicrously  because  his  short,  thick  leg 
would  not  reach.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
steps  Feuerstein  turned  and  waved  his 
fists  wildly.  Ganser  waved  his  fists  at 
Feuerstein  and,  shaking  his  head  so  vio 
lently  that  his  hanging  cheeks  flapped 
back  and  forth,  bellowed : 

"Rindsvieh!  Dreck!" 

Then  he  rushed  in  and  slammed  the 
door. 

81 


A   SENSITIVE   SOUL   SEEKS   SALVE 

As  Mr.  Feuerstein  left  Hilda  on  the 
previous  Sunday  night  he  promised  to 
meet  her  in  Tompkins  Square  the  next 
evening — at  the  band  concert.  She  walked 
up  and  down  with  Sophie,  her  spirits  grad 
ually  sinking  after  half -past  eight  and  a 
feeling  of  impending  misfortune  settling 
in  close.  She  was  not  conscious  of  the  mu 
sic,  though  the  second  part  of  the  program 
contained  the  selections  from  Wagner 
which  she  loved  best.  She  feverishly 
searched  the  crowd  and  the  half -darkness 
beyond.  She  imagined  that  every  ap 
proaching  tall  man  was  her  lover.  With 
the  frankness  to  which  she  had  been  bred 
she  made  no  concealment  of  her  heart-sick 

anxiety. 

82 


A   SOUL   SEEKS   SALVE 

"He  may  have  to  be  at  the  theater," 
said  Sophie,  herself  extremely  uneasy. 
Partly  through  shrewdness,  partly 
through  her  natural  suspicion  of  stran 
gers,  she  felt  that  Mr.  Feuerstein,  upon 
whom  she  was  building,  was  not  a  rock. 

"No,"  replied  Hilda.  "He  told  me  he 
wouldn't  be  at  the  theater,  but  would  sure 
ly  come  here."  The  fact  that  her  lover 
had  said  so  settled  it  to  her  mind. 

They  did  not  leave  the  Square  until  ten 
o'clock,  when  it  was  almost  deserted  and 
most  of  its  throngs  of  an  hour  before 
were  in  bed  sleeping  soundly  in  the  con 
tent  that  comes  from  a  life  of  labor.  And 
when  she  did  get  to  bed  she  lay  awake  for 
nearly  an  hour,  tired  though  she  was. 
Without  doubt  some  misfortune  had  be 
fallen  him — "He's  been  hurt  or  is  ill,"  she 
decided.  The  next  morning  she  stood  in 
the  door  of  the  shop  watching  for  the  post 
man  on  his  first  round;  as  he  turned  the 

83 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

corner  of  Second  Street,  she  could  not  re 
strain  herself,  but  ran  to  meet  him. 

"Any  letter  for  me?"  she  inquired  in  a 
voice  that  compelled  him  to  feel  personal 
guilt  in  having  to  say  "No." 

It  was  a  day  of  mistakes  in  weights 
and  in  making  up  packages,  a  day  of  vain 
searching  for  some  comforting  explana 
tion  of  Mr.  Feuerstein's  failure  and  si 
lence.  After  supper  Sophie  came  and  they 
went  to  the  Square,  keeping  to  the  center 
of  it  where  the  lights  were  brightest  and 
the  people  fewest. 

"I'm  sure  something's  happened,"  said 
Sophie.  "Maybe  Otto  has  told  him  a  story 
— or  has — " 

"No— not  Otto."  Hilda  dismissed  the 
suggestion  as  impossible.  She  had  known 
Otto  too  long  and  too  well  to  entertain  for 
an  instant  the  idea  that  he  could  be  un 
derhanded.  "There's  only  one  reason — 
he's  sick,  very  sick — too  sick  to  send  word." 

84 


A   SOUL    SEEKS    SALVE 

"Let's  go  and  see,"  said  Sophie,  as  if 
she  had  not  planned  it  hours  before. 

Hilda  hesitated.  "It  might  look  as  if 
I—"  She  did  not  finish. 

"But  you  needn't  show  yourself,"  re 
plied  Sophie.  "You  can  wait  down  the 
street  and  I'll  go  up  to  the  door  and  won't 
give  my  name." 

Hilda  clasped  her  arm  more  tightly 
about  Sophie's  waist  and  they  set  out. 
They  walked  more  and  more  swiftly  until 
toward  the  last  they  were  almost  running. 
At  the  corner  of  Fifteenth  Street  and 
First  Avenue  Hilda  stopped.  "I'll  go 
through  to  Stuyvesant  Square,"  she  said, 
"and  wait  there  on  a  bench  near  the  Six 
teenth  Street  entrance.  You'll  be  quick, 
won't  you?" 

Sophie  went  to  Mr.  Feuerstein's  num 
ber  and  rang.  After  a  long  wait  a  sloven 
ly  girl  in  a  stained  red  wrapper,  her  hair 
in  curl-papers  and  one  stocking  down 
85 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

about  her  high-heeled  slipper,  opened  the 
door  and  said:  "What  do  you  want?  I 
sent  the  maid  for  a  pitcher  of  beer." 

"I  want  to  ask  about  Mr.  Feuerstein," 
replied  Sophie. 

The  girl's  pert,  prematurely-wrinkled 
face  took  on  a  quizzical  smile.  "Oh!"  she 
said.  "You  can  go  up  to  his  room.  Third 
floor,  back.  Knock  hard — he's  a  heavy 
sleeper." 

Sophie  climbed  the  stairs  and  knocked 
loudly.  "Come!"  was  the  answer  in  Ger 
man,  in  Mr.  Feuerstein's  deep  stage-voice. 

She  opened  the  door  a  few  inches  and 
said  through  the  crack:  "It's  me,  Mr. 
Feuerstein — Sophie  Liebers — from  down 
in  Avenue  A — Hilda's  friend." 

"Come  in,"  was  Mr.  Feuerstein's  reply, 
in  a  weary  voice,  after  a  pause.  From 
Ganser's  he  had  come  straight  home  and 
had  been  sitting  there  ever  since,  de 
pressed,  angry,  perplexed. 
86 


A   SOUL    SEEKS   SALVE 

Sophie  pushed  the  door  wide  and  stood 
upon  the  threshold.  "Hilda's  over  in 
Stuyvesant  Square,"  she  said.  "She 
thought  you  might  be  sick,  so  we  came. 
But  if  you  go  to  her,  you  must  pretend 
you  came  by  accident  and  didn't  see  me." 

Mr.  Feuerstein  reflected,  but  not  so 
deeply  that  he  neglected  to  pose  before 
Sophie  as  a  tragedy-king.  And  it  called 
for  little  pretense,  so  desperate  and  for 
lorn  was  he  feeling.  Should  he  go  or 
should  he  send  Sophie  about  her  business? 
There  was  no  hope  that  the  rich  brewer 
would  take  him  in;  there  was  every  reason 
to  suspect  that  Peter  would  arrange  to 
have  the  marriage  quietly  annulled.  At 
most  he  could  get  a  few  thousands,  per 
haps  only  hundreds,  by  threatening  a  scan 
dal.  Yes,  it  would  be  wise,  on  the  whole, 
to  keep  little  Hilda  on  the  string. 

"I  am  very  ill,"  he  said  gloomily,  "but 
I  will  go." 

87 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Sophie  felt  hopeful  and  energetic 
again.  "I  won't  come  up  to  her  till  you 
leave  her." 

"You  are  a  good  girl — a  noble  crea 
ture."  Mr.  Feuerstein  took  her  hand  and 
pretended  to  be  profoundly  moved  by  her 
friendship. 

Sophie  gave  him  a  look  of  simplicity 
and  warm-heartedness.  Her  talent  for 
acting  had  not  been  spoiled  by  a  stage  ex 
perience.  "Hilda's  my  friend,"  she  said 
earnestly.  "And  I  want  to  see  her  happy." 
"Noble  creature  1"  exclaimed  Mr.  Feuer 
stein.  "May  God  reward  you!"  And  he 
dashed  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

He  went  to  the  mirror  on  his  bureau, 
carefully  arranged  the  yellow  aureole, 
carefully  adjusted  the  soft  light  hat. 
Then  with  feeble  step  he  descended  the 
stairs.  As  he  moved  down  the  street  his 
face  was  mournful  and  his  shoulders  were 
drooped — a  stage  invalid.  When  Hilda 

88 


A   SOUL    SEEKS    SALVE 

saw  him  coming  she  started  up  and  gave 
a  little  cry  of  delight ;  but  as  she  noted  his 
woebegone  appearance,  a  very  real  pale 
ness  came  to  her  cheeks  and  very  real  tears 
to  her  great  dark  eyes. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  sank  slowly  into  the  seat 
beside  her.  "Soul's  wife,"  he  murmured. 
"Ah — but  I  have  been  near  to  death.  The 
strain  of  the  interview  with  your  father — 
the  anguish — the  hope — oh,  what  a  curse 
it  is  to  have  a  sensitive  soul!  And  my  old 
trouble" — he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart 
and  slowly  shook  his  head — "returned.  It 
will  end  me  some  day." 

Hilda  was  trembling  with  sympathy. 
She  put  her  hand  upon  his.  "If  you  had 
only  sent  word,  dear,"  she  said  reproach 
fully,  "I  would  have  come.  Oh — I  do 
love  you  so,  Carl!  I  could  hardly  eat  or 
sleep — and — " 

"The  truth  would  have  been  worse  than 
silence,"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice.  He  did 
89 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

not  intend  the  double  meaning  of  his  re 
mark;  the  Gansers  were  for  the  moment 
out  of  his  mind,  which  was  absorbed  in  his 
acting.  "But  it  is  over  for  the  present — 
yes,  over,  my  priceless  pearl.  I  can  come 
to  see  you  soon.  If  I  am  worse  I  shall  send 
you  word." 

"But  can't  I  come  to  see  you?" 
"No,  bride  of  my  dreams._It  would  not 
be — suitable.   We  must  respect  the  little 
conventions.     You    must    wait    until    I 


come." 


His  tone  was  decided.  She  felt  that  he 
knew  best.  In  a  few  minutes  he  rose.  "I 
must  return  to  my  room,"  he  said  wearily. 
"Ah,  heart's  delight,  it  is  terrible  for  a 
strong  man  to  find  himself  thus  weak. 
Pity  me.  Pray  for  me." 

He  noted  with  satisfaction  her  look  of 

love  and  anxiety.    It  was  some   slight 

salve  to  his  cruelly  wounded  vanity.   He 

walked  feebly  away,  but  it  was  pure  act- 

90 


A   SOUL   SEEKS    SALVE 

ing,  as  he  no  longer  felt  so  downcast.  He 
had  soon  put  Hilda  into  the  background 
and  was  busy  with  his  plans  for  revenge 
upon  Ganser — "a  vulgar  animal  who  in 
sulted  me  when  I  honored  him  by  marry 
ing  his  ugly  gosling."  Before  he  fell 
asleep  that  night  he  had  himself  wrought 
up  to  a  state  of  righteous  indignation. 
Ganser  had  cheated,  had  outraged  him — 
him,  the  great,  the  noble,  the  eminent. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  went  down 
to  a  dingy  frame  building  that  cowered 
meanly  in  the  shadow  of  the  Criminal 
Court  House.  He  mounted  a  creaking 
flight  of  stairs  and  went  in  at  a  low  door 
on  which  "Loeb,  Lynn,  Levy  and  Mc- 
Cafferty"  was  painted  in  black  letters.  In 
the  narrow  entrance  he  brushed  against 
a  man  on  the  way  out,  a  man  with  a  hang 
dog  look  and  short  bristling  hair  and  the 
pastily-pallid  skin  that  comes  from  living 
91 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTE& 

long  away  from  the  sunlight.  Feuerstein 
shivered  slightly — was  it  at  the  touch  of 
such  a  creature  or  at  the  suggestions  his 
appearance  started?  In  front  of  him  was 
a  ground-glass  partition  with  five  doors  in 
it.  At  a  dirty  greasy  pine  table  sat  a 
boy — one  of  those  child  veterans  the  big 
city  develops.  He  had  a  long  and  extreme 
ly  narrow  head.  His  eyes  were  close  to 
gether,  sharp  and  shifty.  His  expression 
was  sophisticated  and  cynical.  "Well, 
sir!"  he  said  with  curt  impudence,  giving 
Feuerstein  a  gimlet-glance. 

"I  want  to  see  Mr.  Loeb."  Feuerstein 
produced  a  card — it  was  one  of  his  last  re 
maining  half-dozen  and  was  pocket-worn. 

The  office  boy  took  it  with  unveiled  sar 
casm  in  his  eyes  and  in  the  corners  of  his 
mouth.  He  disappeared  through  one  of 
the  five  doors,  almost  immediately  reap 
peared  at  another,  closed  it  mysteriously 
behind  him  and  went  to  a  third  door.  He 
92 


A   SOUL   SEEKS    SALVE 

threw  it  open  and  stood  aside.  "At  the 
end  of  the  hall,"  he  said.  "The  door  with 
Mr.  Loeb's  name  on  it.  Knock  and  walk 
right  in." 

Feuerstein  followed  the  directions  and 
found  himself  in  a  dingy  little  room, 
smelling  of  mustiness  and  stale  tobacco, 
and  lined  with  law  books,  almost  all  on 
crime  and  divorce.  Loeb,  Lynn,  Levy  and 
McCafferty  were  lawyers  to  the  lower 
grades  of  the  criminal  and  shady  only. 
They  defended  thieves  and  murderers; 
they  prosecuted  or  defended  scandalous 
divorce  cases;  they  packed  juries  and 
suborned  perjury  and  they  tutored  false 
witnesses  in  the  way  to  withstand  cross- 
examination.  In  private  life  they  were 
four  home-loving,  law-abiding  citizens. 

Loeb  looked  up  from  his  writing  and 
said  with  contemptuous  cordiality:    "Oh 
— Mr.   Feuerstein.    Glad  to  see  you — 
again.  What's  the  trouble — now?" 
93 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

At  "again"  and  "now"  Feuerstein 
winced  slightly.  He  looked  nervously  at 
Loeb. 

"It's  been — let  me  see — at  least  seven 
years  since  I  saw  you,"  continued  Loeb, 
who  was  proud  of  his  amazing  memory. 
He  was  a  squat,  fat  man,  with  a  coarse 
brown  skin  and  heavy  features.  He  was 
carefully  groomed  and  villainously  per 
fumed  and  his  clothes  were  in  the  extreme 
of  the  loudest  fashion.  A  diamond  of 
great  size  was  in  his  bright-blue  scarf; 
another,  its  match,  loaded  down  his  fat  lit 
tle  finger.  Both  could  be  unscrewed  and 
set  in  a  hair  ornament  which  his  wife  wore 
at  first  nights  or  when  they  dined  in  state 
at  Delmonico's.  As  he  studied  Feuerstein, 
his  face  had  its  famous  smile,  made  by 
shutting  his  teeth  together  and  drawing 
his  puffy  lips  back  tightly  from  them. 

"That  is  all  past  and  gone,"  said  Feuer 
stein.  "As  a  lad  I  was  saved  by  you  from 


A   SOUL    SEEKS    SALVE 

the  consequences  of  boyish  folly.  And 
now,  a  man  grown,  I  come  to  you  to  enlist 
your  aid  in  avenging  an  insult  to  my 
honor,  an — " 

"Be  as  brief  as  possible,"  cut  in  Loeb. 
"My  time  is  much  occupied.  The  bald 
facts,  please — facts,  and  bald." 

Feuerstein  settled  himself  and  prepared 
to  relate  his  story  as  if  he  were  on  the 
stage,  with  the  orchestra  playing  low  and 
sweet.  "I  met  a  woman  and  loved  her," 
he  began  in  a  deep,  intense  voice  with  a 
passionate  tremolo. 

"A  bad  start,"  interrupted  Loeb.  "If 
you  go  on  that  way,  we'll  never  get  any 
where.  You're  a  frightful  fakir  and  liar, 
Feuerstein.  You  were,  seven  years  ago; 
of  course,  the  habit's  grown  on  you. 
Speak  out!  What  do  you  want?  As  your 
lawyer,  I  must  know  things  exactly  as 
they  are." 

"I  ran  away  with  a  girl — the  daughter 
95 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

of  the  brewer,  Peter  Ganser,"  said  Feuer- 
stein,  sullen  but  terse.  "And  her  father 
wouldn't  receive  me — shut  her  up — put 
me  out." 

"And  you  want  your  wife?" 

"I  want  revenge." 

"Of  course — cash.  Well,  Ganser's  a 
rich  man.  I  should  say  he'd  give  up  a  good 
deal  to  get  rid  of  you."  Loeb  gave  that 
mirthless  and  mirth-strangling  smile  as  he 
accented  the  "you." 

"He's  got  to  give  up!"  said  Feuerstein 
fiercely. 

"Slowly!  Slowly!"  Loeb  leaned  for 
ward  and  looked  into  Feuerstein's  face. 
"You  mustn't  forget." 

Feuerstein's  eyes  shifted  rapidly  as  he 
said  in  a  false  voice:  "She  got  a  divorce 
years  ago." 

"M-m-m,"  said  Loeb. 

"Anyhow,  she's  away  off  in  Russia." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  confess  a  crime 


I  want  revenge  ' ' 


Page  96 


A   SOUL    SEEKS   SALVE 

you  haven't  come  to  me  about,"  said  Loeb, 
adding  with  peculiar  emphasis:  "Of 
course,  if  we  knew  you  were  still  married 
to  the  Mrs.  Feuerstein  of  seven  years  ago 
we  couldn't  take  the  present  case.  As  it 
is — the  best  way  is  to  bluff  the  old  brewer. 
He  doesn't  want  publicity;  neither  do  you. 
But  you  know  he  doesn't,  and  he  doesn't 
know  that  you  love  quiet." 

"Ganser  treated  me  infamously.  He 
must  sweat  for  it.  I'm  nothing  if  not  a 
good  hater." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Loeb  dryly.  "And 
you  have  rights  which  the  law  safe 
guards." 

"What  shall  I  do?" 

"Leave  that  to  us.  How  much  do  you 
want — how  much  damages?" 

"He  ought  to  pay  at  least  twenty-five 
thousand." 

Loeb  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Ridic 
ulous!"  he  said.  "Possibly  the  five  with- 
97 


THE    FOHTUNE    HUNTER 

out  the  twenty.  And  how  do  you  expect 
to  pay  us?" 

"I'm  somewhat  pressed  just  at  the  mo 
ment.  But  I  thought" — Feuerstein  halted. 

"That  we'd  take  the  case  as  a  specula 
tion?  Well,  to  oblige  an  old  client,  we 
will.  But  you  must  agree  to  give  us  all 
we  can  get  over  and  above  five  thousand — 
half  what  we  get  if  it's  below  that." 

"Those  are  hard  terms,"  remonstrated 
Feuerstein.  The  more  he  had  thought  on 
his  case,  the  larger  his  expectations  had 
become. 

"Very  generous  terms,  in  the  circum 
stances.  You  can  take  it.  or  leave  it." 

"I  can't  do  anything  without  you.  I 
accept." 

"Very  well."  Loeb  took  up  his  pen,  as 
if  he  were  done  with  Feuerstein,  but  went 
on:  "And  you're  sure  that  the — the  for 
mer  Mrs.  Feuerstein  is  divorced — and 
won't  turn  up?" 


A  SOUL   SEEKS    SALVE 

"Absolutely.  She  swore  she'd  never  en 
ter  any  country  where  I  was." 

"Has  she  any  friends  who  are  likely  to 
hear  of  this?" 

"She  knew  no  one  here." 

"All  right.  Go  into  the  room  to  the 
left  there.  Mr.  Travis  or  Mr.  Gordon  will 
take  your  statement  of  the  facts — names, 
dates,  all  details.  Good  morning." 

Feuerstein  went  to  Travis,  small  and 
sleek,  smooth  and  sly.  When  Travis  had 
done  with  him,  he  showed  him  out.  "Call 
day  after  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "and  when 
you  come,  ask  for  me.  Mr.  Loeb  never 
bothers  with  these  small  cases." 

Travis  reported  to  Loeb  half  an  hour 
later,  when  Feuerstein's  statement  had 
been  typewritten.  Loeb  read  the  state 
ment  through  twice  with  great  care. 
"Most  complete,  Mr.  Travis,"  was  his 
comment.  "You've  done  a  good  piece  of 
work."  He  sat  silent,  drumming  noise- 
99 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

lessly  on  the  table  with  his  stumpy,  hairy, 
fat  fingers.  At  last  he  began:  "It  ought 
to  be  worth  at  least  twenty  thousand.  Do 
you  know  Ganser?" 

"Just  a  speaking  acquaintance." 
"Excellent.  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he?" 
"Stupid  and  ignorant,  but  not  without 
a  certain  cunning.    We  can  get  at  him 
all  right,  though.   He's  deadly  afraid  of 
social  scandal.  Wants  to  get  into  the  Ger 
man  Club  and  become  a  howling  swell. 
But  he  don't  stand  a  chance,  though  he 
don't  know  it." 

"You'd  better  go  to  see  him  yourself," 
said  Loeb. 

'Til  be  glad  to  do  it,  Mr.  Loeb.  Isn't 
your  man — this  Feuerstein — a  good  bit  to 
the  queer?" 

"A  dead  beat — one  of  the  worst  kind — 
the  born  gentleman.  You've  noticed,  per 
haps,  that  where  a  man  or  woman  has  been 
brought  up  to  live  without  work,  to  live 
100 


A   SOUL   SEEKS    SALVE 

off  other  people's  work,  there's  nothing 
they  wouldn't  stoop  to,  to  keep  on  living 
that  way.  As  for  this  chap,  if  he  had  got 
started  right,  he'd  be  operating  up  in  the 
Fifth  Avenue  district.  Pie  used  to  have  a 
wife.  He  says  he's  divorced." 

Loeb  and  Travis  looked  each  at  the 
other  significantly.  "I  see,"  said  Travis. 
"Neither  side  wants  scandal.  Still,  I  think 
you're  right,  that  Ganser's  good  for  twen 
ty  thousand." 

"You  can  judge  better  after  you've  felt 
him,"  replied  Loeb.  "You'd  better  go  at 
once.  Give  him  the  tip  that  Feuerstein's 
about  to  force  him  to  produce  his  daugh 
ter  in  court.  But  you  understand.  Try  to 
induce  him  to  go  to  Beck."  Travis 
grinned  and  Loeb's  eyes  twinkled.  "You 
might  lay  it  on  strong  about  Feuerstein's 
actor-craze  for  getting  into  the  papers." 

"That's  a  grand  idea,"  exclaimed 
Travis.  "I  don't  think  I'll  suggest  any 
101 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

sum  if  he  agrees  to  go  to  Beck.  Beck  can 
get  at  least  five  thousand  more  out  of  him 
than  any  other  lawyer  in  town." 

"Beck's  the  wonder,"  said  Loeb. 

"Loeb  and  Beck,"  corrected  Travis  in  a 
flattering  tone. 

Loeb  waved  his  hot,  fat  head  gently  to 
and  fro  as  if  a  pleasant  cooling  stream 
were  being  played  upon  it.  "I  think  I 
have  got  a  'pretty  good  nut  on  me,'  as 
John  L.  used  to  say,"  he  replied.  "I  think 
I  do  know  a  little  about  the  law.  And 
now  hustle  yourself,  my  boy.  This  case 
must  be  pushed.  The  less  time  Ganser  has 
to  look  about,  the  better  for — our  client." 

Travis  found  Ganser  in  his  office  at  the 
brewery.  The  old  man's  face  was  red  and 
troubled. 

"I've  come  on  very  unpleasant  business, 
Mr.  Ganser,"  said  Travis  with  deference. 
"As  you  know,  I  am  with  Loeb,  Lynn, 
102 


A   SOUL    SEEKS    SALVE 

Levy  and  McCafferty.  Our  client,  Mr. 
Feuerstein — " 

Ganser  leaped  to  his  feet,  apoplectic. 
"Get  out!"  he  shouted,  "I  don't  speak  with 
you!" 

"As  an  officer  of  the  court,  Mr.  Gan 
ser,"  said  Travis  suavely,  "it  is  my  pain 
ful  duty  to  insist  upon  a  hearing.  We 
lawyers  can't  select  our  clients.  We  must 
do  our  best  for  all  comers.  Our  firm  has 
sent  me  out  of  kindly  feeling  for  you.  We 
are  all  men  of  family,  like  yourself,  and, 
when  the  case  was  forced  on  us,  we  at 
once  tried  to  think  how  we  could  be  of 
service  to  you — of  course,  while  doing  our 
full  legal  duty  by  our  client.  I've  come 
in  the  hope  of  helping  you  to  avoid  the 
disgrace  of  publicity." 

"Get  out!"  growled  Peter.  "I  know 
lawyers — they're  all  thieves.  Get  out!" 
But  Travis  knew  that  Peter  wished  him  to 
stay. 

103 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"I  needn't  enlarge  on  our  client — Mr. 
Feuerstein.  You  know  he's  an  actor.  You 
know  how  they  crave  notoriety.  You 
know  how  eager  the  newspapers  are  to 
take  up  and  make  a  noise  about  matters 
of  this  kind." 

Peter  was  sweating  profusely,  and  had 
to  seat  himself.  "It's  outrageous!"  he 
groaned  in  German. 

"Feuerstein  has  ordered  us  to  have  your 
daughter  brought  into  court  at  once — to 
morrow.  He's  your  daughter's  lawful 
husband  and  she's  well  beyond  the  legal 
age.  Of  course,  he  can't  compel  her  to  live 
with  him  or  you  to  support  him.  But  he 
can  force  the  courts  to  inquire  publicly. 
And  I'm  sorry  to  say  we'll  not  be  able  to 
restrain  him  or  the  press,  once  he  gets  the 
baU  to  rolling." 

Peter  felt  it  rolling  over  him,  tons 
heavy.  "What  you  talk  about?"  he  said, 
on  his  guard  but  eager. 

104 


A   SOUL   SEEKS    SALVE 

"It's  an  outrage  that  honest  men  should 
be  thus  laid  open  to  attack,"  continued 
Travis  in  a  sympathetic  tone.  "But  if  the 
law  permits  these  outrages,  it  also  pro 
vides  remedies.  Your  daughter's  mistake 
may  cost  you  a  little  something,  but  there 
need  be  no  scandal." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked 
Ganser. 

"Really,  I've  talked  too  much  already, 
Mr.  Ganser.  I  almost  forgot,  for  the  mo 
ment,  that  I'm  representing  Mr.  Feuer- 
stein.  But,  as  between  friends,  I'd  advise 
you  to  go  to  some  good  divorce  lawyers — 
a  firm  that  is  reputable  but  understands 
the  ins  and  outs  of  the  business,  some  firm 
like  Beck  and  Brown.  They  can  tell  you 
exactly  what  to  do." 

Ganser  regarded  his  "friend"  suspi 
ciously  but  credulously.  "I'll  see,"  he  said. 
"But  I  won't  pay  a  cent." 

"Right  you  are,  sir!  And  there  may  be 

105 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

a  way  out  of  it  without  paying.  But  Beck 
can  tell  you."  Travis  made  a  motion 
toward  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  then 
pretended  to  change  his  mind.  "I  came 
here  to  serve  the  papers  on  you,"  he  said 
apologetically.  "But  I'll  take  the  respon 
sibility  of  delaying — it  can't  make  Feuer- 
stein  any  less  married,  and  your  daugh 
ter's  certainly  safe  in  her  father's  care. 
I'll  wait  in  the  hope  that  you'll  take  the 
first  step." 

Ganser  lost  no  time  in  going  to  his  own 
lawyers — Fisher,  Windisch  and  Carteret, 
in  the  Postal  Telegraph  Building.  He 
told  Windisch  the  whole  story.  "And," 
he  ended,  "I've  got  a  detective  looking 
up  the  rascal.  He's  a  wretch — a  black 
wretch." 

"We  can't  take  your  case,  Mr.  Ganser," 

said  Windisch.    "It's  wholly  out  of  our 

line.   We  don't  do  that  kind  of  work.   I 

should  say  Beck  and  Brown  were  your 

106 


A   SOUL   SEEKS   SALVE 

people.  They  stand  well,  and  at  the  same 
time  they  know  all  the  tricks." 

"But  they  may  play  me  the  tricks." 

"I  think  not.  They  stand  well  at  the 
bar." 

"Yes,  yes,"  sneered  Peter,  who  was 
never  polite,  was  always  insultingly  frank 
to  any  one  who  served  him  for  pay.  "I 
know  that  bar." 

"Well,  Mr.  Ganser,"  replied  Windisch, 
angry  but  willing  to  take  almost  anything 
from  a  rich  client,  "I  guess  you  can  look 
out  for  yourself.  Of  course  there's  always 
danger,  once  you  get  outside  the  straight 
course  of  justice.  As  I  understand  it, 
your  main  point  is  no  publicity?" 

"That's  right,"  replied  Ganser.  "No 
newspapers — no  trial." 

"Then  Beck  and  Brown.  Drive  as  close 
a  bargain  as  you  can.  But  you'll  have  to 
give  up  a  few  thousands,  I'm  afraid." 

Ganser  went  over  into  Nassau  Street 
107 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

and  found  Beck  in  his  office.  He  gazed 
with  melancholy  misgivings  at  this  lean 
man  with  hair  and  whiskers  of  a  lifeless 
black.  Beck  suggested  a  starved  black 
spider,  especially  when  you  were  looking 
into  his  cold,  amused,  malignant  black 
eyes.  He  made  short  work  of  the  guile 
less  brewer,  who  was  dazed  and  frightened 
by  the  meshes  in  which  he  was  enveloped. 
Staring  at  the  horrid  specter  of  publicity 
which  these  men  of  craft  kept  before  him, 
he  could  not  vigorously  protest  against 
extortion.  Beck  discovered  that  twenty 
thousand  was  his  fighting  limit. 

"Leave  the  matter  entirely  in  our 
hands,"  said  Beck.  "We'll  make  the  best 
bargain  we  can.  But  Feuerstein  has 
shrewd  lawyers — none  better.  That  man 
Loeb — "  Beck  threw  up  his  arms.  "Of 
course,"  he  continued,  "I  had  to  know  your 
limit.  I'll  try  to  make  the  business  as 
cheap  for  you  as  possible." 

108 


A   SOUL   SEEKS    SALVE 

"Put  'em  off,"  said  Ganser.  "My 
Lena's  sick." 

His  real  reason  was  his  hopes  from  the 
reports  on  Feuerstein's  past,  which  his  de 
tective  would  make.  But  he  thought  it  was 
not  necessary  to  tell  Beck  about  the  detec 
tive. 


VI 

TRAGEDY   IN  TOMPKINS   SQUARE 

After  another  talk  with  Travis,  Feuer- 
stein  decided  that  he  must  give  up  Hilda 
entirely  until  this  affair  with  the  Gansers 
was  settled.  Afterward — well,  there  would 
be  time  to  decide  when  he  had  his  five  thou 
sand.  He  sent  her  a  note,  asking  her  to 
meet  him  in  Tompkins  Square  on  Friday 
evening.  That  afternoon  he  carefully  pre 
pared  himself.  He  resolved  that  the  scene 
between  her  and  him  should  be,  so  far  as 
his  part  was  concerned,  a  masterpiece  of 
that  art  of  which  he  knew  himself  to  be 
one  of  the  greatest  living  exponents. 
Only  his  own  elegant  languor  had  pre 
vented  the  universal  recognition  of  this 
and  his  triumph  over  the  envy  of  profes 
sionals  and  the  venality  of  critics. 
Jio 


IN    TOMPKINS    SQUARE 

It  was  a  concert  night  in  Tompkins 
Square,  and  Hilda,  off  from  her  work  for 
an  hour,  came  alone  through  the  crowds 
to  meet  him.  She  made  no  effort  to  con 
trol  the  delight  in  her  eyes  and  in  her 
voice.  She  loved  him;  he  loved  her.  Why 
suppress  and  deny?  Why  not  glory  in  the 
glorious  truth?  She  loved  him,  not  because 
he  was  her  conquest,  but  because  she  was 
his. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  was  so  absorbed  in  his 
impending  "act"  that  he  barely  noted  how 
pretty  she  was  and  how  utterly  in  love — 
what  was  there  remarkable  in  a  woman  be 
ing  in  love  with  him?  "The  women  are 
all  crazy  about  me,"  was  his  inward  com 
ment  whenever  a  woman  chanced  to  glance 
at  him.  As  he  took  Hilda's  hand  he  gave 
her  a  look  of  intense,  yearning  melan 
choly.  He  sighed  deeply.  "Let  us  go 
apart,"  he  said.  Then  he  glanced  gloom 
ily  round  and  sighed  again. 
HI 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

They  seated  themselves  on  a  bench  far 
away  from  the  music  and  the  crowds.  He 
did  not  speak  but  repeated  his  deep  sigh. 

"Has  it  made  you  worse  to  come,  dear?" 
Hilda  asked  anxiously.  "Are  you  sick?" 

"Sick?"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice.  "My 
soul  is  sick — dying.  My  God!  My  God!" 
An  impressive  pause.  "All,  child,  you  do 
not  know  what  suffering  is — you  who 
have  lived  only  in  these  simple,  humble 
surroundings." 

Hilda  was  trembling  with  apprehen 
sion.  "What  is  it,  Carl?  You  can  tell  me. 
Let  me  help  you  bear  it." 

"No!  no!  I  must  bear  it  alone.  I  must 
take  my  dark  shadow  from  your  young 
life.  I  ought  not  to  have  come.  I  should 
have  fled.  But  love  makes  me  a  coward." 

"But  I  love  you,  Carl,"  she  said  gently. 
"And  I  have  missed  you — dreadfully, 
dreadfully!" 

He  rolled  his  eyes  wildly.  "You  torture 


He  kissed  her,  then  drew  back  Page 


IN    TOMPKINS    SQUARE 

me!"  he  exclaimed,  seizing  her  hand  in  a 
dead  man's  clutch.  "How  can  I  speak?" 

Hilda's  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  She 
was  pale  to  the  lips,  and  he  could  see,  even 
in  the  darkness,  her  eyes  grow  and  startle. 
"What  is  it?"  she  murmured.  "You  know 
I — can  bear  anything  for  you." 

"Not  that  tone,"  he  groaned.  "Re 
proach  me!  Revile  me!  Be  harsh,  scorn 
ful — but  not  those  tender  accents." 

He  felt  her  hand  become  cold  and  he 
saw  terror  in  her  eyes.  "Forgive  me,"  she 
said  humbly.  "I  don't  know  what  to  say 
or  do.  I — you  look  so  strange.  It  makes 
me  feel  all  queer  inside.  Won't  you  tell 
me,  please?" 

He  noted  with  artistic  satisfaction  that 
the  band  was  playing  passionate  love- 
music  with  sobs  and  sad  ecstasies  of  fare 
well  embraces  in  it.  He  kissed  her,  then 
drew  back.  "No,"  he  groaned.  "Those 
lips  are  not  for  me,  accursed  that  I  am." 

113 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

She  was  no  longer  looking  at  him,  but 
sat  gazing  straight  ahead,  her  shoulders 
bent  as  if  she  were  crouching  to  receive  a 
blow.  He  began  in  a  low  voice,  and,  as 
he  spoke,  it  rose  or  fell  as  his  words  and 
the  distant  music  prompted  him.  "Mine 
has  been  a  luckless  life,"  he  said.  "I  have 
been  a  football  of  destiny,  kicked  and 
flung  about,  hither  and  yon.  Again  and 
again  I  have  thought  in  my  despair  to  lay 
me  down  and  die.  But  something  has 
urged  me  on,  on,  on.  And  at  last  I  met 
you." 

He  paused  and  groaned — partly  be 
cause  it  was  the  proper  place,  partly  with 
vexation.  Here  was  a  speech  to  thrill,  yet 
she  sat  there  inert,  her  face  a  stupid  blank. 
He  was  not  even  sure  that  she  had  heard. 
"Are  you  listening?"  he  asked  in  a  stern 
aside,  a  curious  mingling  of  the  actor  and 
the  stage  manager. 

"I — I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  start- 


IN    TOMPKINS    SQUARE 

ling.  "I  feel  so — so — queer.  I  don't 
seem  to  be  able  to  pay  attention."  She 
looked  at  him  timidly  and  her  chin  quiv 
ered.  "Don't  you  love  me  any  more?" 

"Love  you?  Would  that  I  did  not! 
But  I  must  on — my  time  is  short.  How 
can  you  say  I  do  not  love  you  when  my 
soul  is  like  a  raging  fire?" 

She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "Your  voice 
don't  feel  like  it,"  she  said.  "What  is  it? 
What  are  you  going  to  say?" 

He  sighed  and  looked  away  from  her 
with  an  irritated  expression.  "Little  stu 
pid!"  he  muttered — she  didn't  appreciate 
him  and  he  was  a  fool  to  expect  it.  But 
"art  for  art's  sake";  and  he  went  on  in 
tones  of  gentle  melancholy.  "I  love  you, 
but  fate  has  again  caught  me  up.  I  am  be 
ing  whirled  away.  I  stretch  out  my  arms 
to  you — in  vain.  Do  you  understand?"  It 
exasperated  him  for  her  to  be  so  still — why 
didn't  she  weep? 

115 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

She  shook  her  head  and  replied  quietly: 
"No — what  is  it?  Don't  you  love  me  any 
more?" 

"Love  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  he 
said,  as  gently  as  he  could  in  the  irritating 
circumstances.  "My  mysterious  destiny 
has—" 

"You  said  that  before,"  she  interrupted. 
"What  is  it?  Can't  you  tell  me  so  that  I 
can  understand?" 

"You  never  loved  me  1"  he  cried  bitterly. 

"You  know  that  isn't  so,"  she  answered. 
"Won't  you  tell  me,  Carl?" 

"A  specter  has  risen  from  my  past — I 
must  leave  you — I  may  never  return — " 

She  gave  a  low,  wailing  cry — it  seemed 
like  an  echo  of  the  music.  Then  she  began 
to  sob — not  loudly,  but  in  a  subdued,  de 
spairing  way.  She  was  not  conscious  of 
her  grief,  but  only  of  his  words — of  the 
dream  vanished,  the  hopes  shattered. 

"Never?"  she  said  brokenly. 
116 


IN    TOMPKINS    SQUARE 

"Never!"  he  replied  in  a  hoarse  whis 
per. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  looked  down  at  Hilda's 
quivering  shoulders  with  satisfaction.  "I 
thought  I  could  make  even  her  feel,"  he 
said  to  himself  complacently.  Then  to  her 
in  the  hoarse  undertone:  "And  my  heart 
is  breaking." 

She  straightened  and  her  tears  seemed 
to  dry  with  the  flash  of  her  eyes.  "Don't 
say  that — you  mustn't!"  She  blazed  out 
before  his  astonished  eyes,  a  woman  elec 
tric  with  disdain  and  anger.  "It's  false — 
false!  I  hate  you — hate  you — you  never 
cared — you've  made  a  fool  of  me — " 

"Hilda!"  He  felt  at  home  now  and  his 
voice  became  pleading  and  anguished. 
"You,  too,  desert  me!  Ah,  God,  whenever 
was  there  man  so  wretched  as  I?"  He 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Oh,  you  put  it  on  well,"  she  scoffed. 
"But  I  know  what  it  all  means/' 
117 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Mr.  Feuerstein  rose  wearily.  "Fare 
well,"  he  said  in  a  broken  voice.  "At  least 
I  am  glad  you  will  be  spared  the  suffering 
that  is  blasting  my  life.  Thank  God,  she 
did  not  love  me!" 

The  physical  fact  of  his  rising  to  go 
struck  her  courage  full  in  the  face. 
"No — no,"  she  urged  hurriedly,  "not  yet 
— not  just  yet — wait  a  few  minutes 


more — " 


"No — I  must  go — farewell!"  And  he 
seated  himself  beside  her,  put  his  arm 
around  her. 

She  lay  still  in  his  arms  for  a  moment, 
then  murmured:  "Say  it  isn't  so,  Carl — 
dear!" 

"I  would  say  there  is  hope,  heart's  dar 
ling,"  he  whispered,  "but  I  have  no  right 
to  blast  your  young  life.  And  I  may  never 
return." 

She  started  up,  her  face  glowing. 
"Then  you  will  return?" 

118 


IN    TOMPKINS    SQUARE 

"It  may  be  that  I  can,'*  he  answered. 
"But—" 

"Then  111  wait— gladly.  No  matter 
how  long  it  is,  I'll  wait.  Why  didn't  you 
say  at  first,  'Hilda,  something  I  can't  tell 
you  about  has  happened.  I  must  go  away. 
When  I  can,  I'll  come.'  That  would  have 
been  enough,  because  I — I  love  you!" 

"What  have  I  done  to  deserve  such  love 
as  this!"  he  exclaimed,  and  for  an  instant 
he  almost  forgot  himself  in  her  beauty  and 
sweetness  and  sincerity. 

"Will  it  be  long?"  she  asked  after  a 
while. 

"I  hope  not,  bride  of  my  soul.  But  I 
can  not — dare  not  say." 

"Wherever  you  go,  and  no  matter  what 
happens,  dear,"  she  said  softly,  "you'll  al 
ways  know  that  I'm  loving  you,  won't 
you?"  And  she  looked  at  him  with  great, 
luminous,  honest  eyes. 

He  began  to  be  uncomfortable.  Her 
119 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

complete  trust  was  producing  an  effect 
even  upon  his  nature.  The  good  that  evil 
can  never  kill  out  of  a  man  was  rousing 
what  was  very  like  a  sense  of  shame.  "I 
must  go  now,"  he  said  with  real  gentle 
ness  in  his  voice  and  a  look  at  her  that  had 
real  longing  in  it.  He  went  on:  "I 
shall  come  as  soon  as  the  shadow  passes — I 
shall  come  soon,  nerzallerliebste!" 

She  was  cheerful  to  the  last.  But  after 
he  had  left  she  sat  motionless,  except  for 
an  occasional  shiver.  From  the  music- 
stand  came  a  Waldteuf  el  waltz,  with  its 
ecstatic  throb  and  its  long,  dreamy  swing, 
its  mingling  of  joy  with  foreboding  of 
sadness.  The  tears  streamed  down  her 
cheeks.  "He's  gone,"  she  said  miserably. 
She  rose  and  went  through  the  crowd, 
stumbling  against  people,  making  the 
homeward  journey  by  instinct  alone.  She 
seemed  to  be  walking  in  her  sleep.  She 
entered  the  shop — it  was  crowded  with 
120 


IN   TOMPKINS    SQUARE 

customers,  and  her  father,  her  mother  and 
August  were  bustling  about  behind  the 
counters.  "Here,  tie  this  up,"  said  her 
father,  thrusting  into  her  hands  a  sheet  of 
wrapping  paper  on  which  were  piled  a 
chicken,  some  sausages,  a  bottle  of  olives 
and  a  can  of  cherries.  She  laid  the  paper 
on  the  counter  and  went  on  through  the 
parlor  and  up  the  stairs  to  her  plain,  neat, 
little  bedroom.  She  threw  herself  on  the 
bed,  face  downward.  She  fell  at  once  into 
a  deep  sleep.  When  she  awoke  it  was  be 
ginning  to  dawn.  She  remembered  and 
began  to  moan.  "He's  gone!  He's  gone! 
He's  gone!"  she  repeated  over  and  over 
again.  And  she  lay  there,  sobbing  and 
calling  to  him. 

When  she  faced  the  family  there  were 
black  circles  around  her  eyes.  They  were 
the  eyes  of  a  woman  grown,  and  they 
looked  out  upon  the  world  with  sorrow  in 
them  for  the  first  time. 
1*1 


VII 

LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

It  was  not  long  before  the  community 
was  talking  of  the  change  in  Hilda,  the 
abrupt  change  to  a  gentle,  serious,  silent 
woman,  the  sparkle  gone  from  her  eyes, 
pathos  there  in  its  stead.  But  not  even  her 
own  family  knew  her  secret. 

"When  is  Mr.  Feuerstein  coming 
again?"  asked  her  father  when  a  week  had 
passed. 

"I  don't  know  just  when.  Soon,"  an 
swered  Hilda,  in  a  tone  which  made  it  im 
possible  for  such  a  man  as  he  to  inquire 
further. 

Sophie  brought  all  her  cunning  to  bear 
in  her  effort  to  get  at  the  facts.  But 
Hilda  evaded  her  hints  and  avoided  her 
traps.  After  much  thinking  she  decided 

122 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

that  Mr.  Feuerstein  had  probably  gone 
for  good,  that  Hilda  was  hoping  when 
there  was  nothing  to  hope  for,  and  that  her 
own  affairs  were  suffering  from  the  ces 
sation  of  action.  She  was  in  the  mood  to 
entertain  the  basest  suggestions  her  craft 
could  put  forward  for  making  marriage 
between  Hilda  and  Otto  impossible.  But 
she  had  not  yet  reached  the  stage  at  which 
overt  acts  are  deliberately  planned  upon 
the  surface  of  the  mind. 

One  of  her  girl  friends  ran  in  to  gossip 
with  her  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
eighth  day  after  Mr.  Feuerstein's  "part 
ing  scene"  in  Tompkins  Square.  The  talk 
soon  drifted  to  Hilda,  whom  the  other  girl 
did  not  like. 

"I  wonder  what's  become  of  that  lover 
of  hers — that  tall  fellow  from  up  town?" 
asked  Miss  Hunneker. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Sophie  in  a 
strained,  nervous  manner.  "I  always 

123 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

hated  to  see  Hilda  go  with  him.  ~No  good 
ever  comes  of  that  sort  of  thing." 

"I  supposed  she  was  going  to  marry 
him." 

Sophie  became  very  uneasy  indeed.  "It 
don't  often  turn  out  that  way,"  she  said 
in  a  voice  that  was  evidently  concealing 
something — apparently  an  ugly  rent  in 
the  character  of  her  friend. 

Walpurga  Hunneker  opened  her  eyes 
wide.  "You  don't  mean — "  she  exclaimed. 
And,  as  Sophie  looked  still  more  confused, 
"Well,  I  thought  so!  Gracious!  Her 
pride  must  have  had  a  fall.  No  wonder 
she  looks  so  disturbed." 

"Poor  Hilda!"  said  Sophie  mournfully. 
Then  she  looked  at  Walpurga  in  a  fright 
ened  way  as  if  she  had  been  betrayed  into 
saying  too  much. 

Walpurga  spent  a  busy  evening  among 
her  confidantes,  with  the  result  that  the 
next  day  the  neighborhood  was  agitated 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

by  gossip — insinuations  that  grew  bolder 
and  bolder,  that  had  sprung  from  no 
where,  but  pointed  to  Hilda's  sad  face  as 
proof  of  their  truth.  And  on  the  third 
day  they  had  reached  Otto's  mother.  Not 
a  detail  was  lacking — even  the  scene  be 
tween  Hilda  and  her  father  was  one  of 
the  several  startling  climaxes  of  the  tale. 
Mrs.  Heilig  had  been  bitterly  resentful  of 
Hilda's  treatment  of  her  son,  and  she  ac 
cepted  the  story — it  was  in  such  perfect 
harmony  with  her  expectations  from  the 
moment  she  heard  of  Mr.  Feuerstein.  In 
the  evening,  when  he  came  home  from  the 
shop,  she  told  him. 

"There  isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  it, 
mother,"  he  said.  "I  don't  care  who  told 
you,  it's  a  lie.'5 

"Your  love  makes  you  blind,"  answered 
the  mother.  "But  I  can  see  that  her  vanity 
has  led  her  just  where  vanity  always  leads 
— to  destruction." 

125 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Who  told  you?"  he  demanded. 

Mrs.  Heilig  gave  him  the  names  of  sev 
eral  women.  "It  is  known  to  all,"  she  said. 

His  impulse  was  to  rush  out  and  trace 
down  the  lie  to  its  author.  But  he  soon 
realized  the  folly  of  such  an  attempt.  He 
would  only  aggravate  the  gossip  and  the 
scandal,  give  the  scandal-mongers  a  new 
chapter  for  their  story.  Yet  he  could  not 
rest  without  doing  something. 

He  went  to  Hilda — she  had  been  most 
friendly  toward  him  since  the  day  he 
helped  her  with  her  lover.  He  asked  her  to 
walk  with  him  in  the  Square.  When  they 
were  alone,  he  began :  "Hilda,  you  believe 
I'm  your  friend,  don't  you?" 

She  looked  as  if  she  feared  he  were 
about  to  reopen  the  old  subject. 

"No — I'm  not  going  to  worry  you,"  he 
said  in  answer  to  the  look.  "I  mean  just 
friend." 

"I  know  you  are,  Otto,"  she  replied 

126 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "You  are  indeed 
my  friend.  I've  counted  on  you  ever  since 
you — ever  since  that  Sunday." 

"Then  you  won't  think  wrong  of  me  if 
I  ask  you  a  question?  You'll  know  I 
wouldn't,  if  I  didn't  have  a  good  reason, 
even  though  I  can't  explain?" 

"Yes— what  is  it?" 

"Hilda,  is — is  Mr.  Feuerstein  coming 
back?" 

Hilda  flushed.  "Yes,  Otto,"  she  said. 
"I  haven't  spoken  to  any  one  about  it,  but 
I  can  trust  you.  He's  had  trouble  and  it 
has  called  him  away.  But  he  told  me  he'd 
come  back."  She  looked  at  him  appealing- 
ly.  "You  know  that  I  love  him,  Otto. 
Some  day  you  will  like  him,  will  see  what 
a  noble  man  he  is." 

"When  is  he  coming  back?" 

"I  didn't  ask  him.  I  knew  he'd  come  as 
soon  as  he  could.  I  wouldn't  pry  into  his 
affairs." 

127 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Then  you  don't  know  why  he  went  or 
when  he's  coming?" 

"I  trust  him,  just  as  you'll  want  a  girl 
to  trust  you  some  day  when  you  love  her." 

As  soon  as  he  could  leave  her,  he  went 
up  town,  straight  to  the  German  Theater. 
In  the  box-office  sat  a  young  man  with  hair 
precisely  parted  in  the  middle  and  sleeked 
down  in  two  whirls  brought  low  on  his 
forehead. 

"I'd  like  to  get  Mr.  Feuerstein's  ad 
dress,"  said  Otto. 

"That  dead-beat?"  the  young  man  re 
plied  contemptuously.  "I  suppose  he  got 
into  you  like  he  did  into  every  one  else. 
Yes,  you  can  have  his  address.  And  give 
him  one  for  me  when  you  catch  him.  He 
did  me  out  of  ten  dollars." 

Otto  went  on  to  the  boarding-house  in 
East  Sixteenth  Street.  No,  Mr.  Feuer- 
stein  was  not  in  and  it  was  not  known 
when  he  would  return — he  was  very  un- 

128 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

certain.  Otto  went  to  Stuyvesant  Square 
and  seated  himself  where  he  could  see  the 
stoop  of  the  boarding-house.  An  hour, 
two  hours,  two  hours  and  a  half  passed, 
and  then  his  patient  attitude  changed  ab 
ruptly  to  action.  He  saw  the  soft  light 
hat  and  the  yellow  bush  coming  toward 
him.  Mr.  Feuerstein  paled  slightly  as  he 
recognized  Otto. 

"I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you,"  said  Otto 
in  a  tone  which  Mr.  Feuerstein  wished  he 
had  the  physical  strength  to  punish.  "Sit 
down  here — I've  got  something  to  say  to 

you." 

"I'm  in  a  great  hurry.  Really,  you'll 
have  to  come  again." 

But  Otto's  look  won.  Mr.  Feuerstein 
hesitated,  seated  himself. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  said  Otto  quietly, 

"that  as  the  result  of  your  going  away  so 

suddenly  and  not  coming  back  a  wicked 

lying  story  is  going  round  about  Hilda. 

129 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

She  does  not  know  it  yet,  but  it  won't  be 
long  before  something  will  be  said — may 
be  publicly.  And  it  will  break  her  heart." 

"I  can't  discuss  her  with  you,"  said  Mr. 
Feuerstein.  "Doubtless  you  mean  well. 
I'm  obliged  to  you  for  coming.  I'll  see." 
He  rose. 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Otto. 

"What  more  can  I  say?" 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  prevent  a  lot  of 
ignorant  people  from  gossiping." 

"Then  you're  not  going  straight  down 
there?  You're  not  going  to  do  what  a 
man'd  do  if  he  had  the  decency  of  a  dog?" 

"You  are  insulting!  But  because  I  be 
lieve  you  mean  well,  I  shall  tell  you  that 
it  is  impossible  for  me  to  go  for  several 
days  at  least.  As  soon  as  I  honorably  can, 
I  shall  come  and  the  scandal  will  vanish 
like  smoke." 

Otto  let  him  go.  "I  mustn't  thrash  him, 

130 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

and  I  can't  compel  him  to  be  a  man."  He 
returned  to  the  German  Theater;  he  must 
learn  all  he  could  about  this  Feuerstein. 

"Did  you  see  him?"  asked  the  ticket- 
seller. 

"Yes,  but  I  didn't  get  anything." 

Otto  looked  so  down  that  the  ticket- 
seller  was  moved  to  pity,  to  generosity. 
"Well,  I'll  give  you  a  tip.  Keep  after 
him;  keep  your  eye  on  him.  He's  got  a 
rich  father-in-law." 

Otto  leaned  heavily  on  the  sill  of  the  lit 
tle  window.  "Father-in-law?"  A  sicken 
ing  suspicion  peered  into  his  mind. 

"He  was  full  the  other  night  and  he  told 
one  of  our  people  he  was  married  to  a  rich 
man's  daughter." 

"Was  the  name  Brauner?"  asked  Otto. 

"He  didn't  name  any  names.  But — let 
me  think — they  say  it's  a  daughter  of  a 
brewer,  away  up  town.  Yes,  Ganser — I 
think  that  was  the  name." 

151 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Oh!"  Otto's  face  brightened.  "Where 
is  Ganser's  place?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know — look  in  the  directory. 
But  the  tip  is  to  wait  a  few  days.  He 
hasn't  got  hold  of  any  of  the  old  man's 
money  yet — there's  some  hitch.  There'll 
be  plenty  for  all  when  it  comes,  so  you 
needn't  fret." 

Otto  went  to  the  brewery,  but  Peter 
had  gone  home.  Otto  went  on  to  the  house 
and  Peter  came  down  to  the  brilliant  par 
lor,  where  the  battle  of  hostile  shades  and 
colors  was  raging  with  undiminished  fury. 
In  answer  to  Peter's  look  of  inquiry,  he 
said:  "I  came  about  your  son-in-law,  Mr. 
Feuerstein." 

"Who  are  you?  Who  told  you?"  asked 
Peter,  wilting  into  a  chair. 

"They  told  me  at  the  theater." 

Peter  gave  a  sort  of  groan.  "It's  out!" 
he  cried,  throwing  up  his  thick,  short  arms. 
"Everybody  knows!" 

132 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

Shrewd  Otto  saw  the  opening.  "I  don't 
think  so,"  he  replied,  "at  least  not  yet.  He 
has  a  bad  reputation — I  see  you  know  that 
already.  But  it's  nothing  to  what  he  will 
have  when  it  comes  out  that  he's  been  try 
ing  to  marry  a  young  lady  down  town 
since  he  married  your  daughter." 

"But  it  mustn't  come  out!"  exclaimed 
Ganser.  "I  won't  have  it.  This  scandal 
has  disgraced  me  enough." 

"That's  what  I  came  to  see  you  about," 
said  Otto.  "The  young  lady  and  her 
friends  don't  know  about  his  marriage.  It 
isn't  necessary  that  any  of  them  should 
know,  except  her.  But  she  must  be  put  on 
her  guard.  He  might  induce  her  to  run 
away  with  him." 

"Rindsvieh!"  muttered  Ganser,  his  hair 
and  whiskers  bristling.  "Drecfc/" 

"I  want  to  ask  you,  as  a  man  and  a 
father,  to  see  that  this  young  lady  is 
warned.  She'll  be  anxious  enough  to  keep 

133 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

quiet.  If  you  do,  there  won't  be  any  scan 
dal — at  least  not  from  there." 

"I'll  go  down  and  warn  her.  Where  is 
she?  I'll  speak  to  her  father." 

"And  have  him  make  a  row?  No,  there's 
only  one  way.  Send  your  daughter  to 
her." 

"But  you  don't  know  my  daughter. 
She's  a  born — "  Just  in  time  Ganser  re 
membered  that  he  was  talking  to  a  stran 
ger  and  talking  about  his  daughter.  "She 
wouldn't  do  it  right,"  he  finished. 

"She  can  go  in  and  see  the  young  lady 
alone  and  come  out  without  speaking  to 
anybody  else.  I'll  promise  you  there'll  be 
no  risk." 

Ganser  thought  it  over  and  decided  to 
take  Otto's  advice.  They  discussed  Mr. 
Feuerstein  for  several  minutes,  and  when 
Otto  left,  Ganser  followed  him  part  of  the 
way  down  the  stoop,  shaking  hands  with 
him.  It  was  a  profound  pleasure  to  the 

134, 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

brewer  to  be  able  to  speak  his  mind  on  the 
subject  of  his  son-in-law  to  an  intelligent, 
appreciative  person.  He  talked  nothing 
else  to  his  wife  and  Lena,  but  he  had  the 
feeling  that  he  might  as  well  talk  aloud  to 
himself. 

After  supper — the  Gansers  still  had 
supper  in  the  evening,  their  fashionable 
progress  in  that  direction  having  reached 
only  the  stage  at  which  dinner  is  called 
luncheon — he  put  Lena  into  the  carriage 
and  they  drove  to  Avenue  A.  On  the  way 
he  told  her  exactly  what  to  say  and  do. 
He  stayed  in  the  carriage.  "Be  quick,"  he 
said,  "and  no  foolishness!" 

Lena,  swelling  and  rustling  with  finery 
and  homelier  than  before  her  troubles,  lit 
tle  though  they  disturbed  her,  marched 
into  the  shop  and  up  to  the  end  counter, 
where  Hilda  was  standing. 

"You  are  Miss  Hilda  Brauner?"  she 
said.  "I  want  to  see  you  alone." 

135 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Hilda  looked  her  surprise  but  showed 
Lena  into  the  living-room,  which  hap 
pened  to  be  vacant.  Lena  could  not  begin, 
so  intent  was  she  upon  examining  her 
rival.  "How  plain  she's  dressed,"  she 
thought,  "and  how  thin  and  black  she  is!" 
But  it  was  in  vain;  she  could  not  deceive 
her  rising  jealousy.  It  made  her  forget 
her  father's  instructions,  forget  that  she 
was  supposed  to  hate  Feuerstein  and  was 
getting  rid  of  him. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Carl  Feuerstein,"  she  cried, 
her  face  red  and  her  voice  shrill  with  anger 
and  excitement.  "And  I  want  you  to  stop 
flirting  with  my  husband !" 

Hilda  stood  petrified.  Lena  caught 
sight  of  a  photograph  on  the  mantelpiece 
behind  Hilda.  She  gave  a  scream  of  fury 
and  darted  for  it.  "How  dare  you!"  she 
shrieked.  "You  impudent  thing!"  She 
snatched  the  frame,  tore  it  away  from  the 
photograph  and  flung  it  upon  the  floor. 
136 


She  suddenly  sprang  at  Lena.     "  You  lie  !  "  she  exclaimed 

Page 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

As  she  gazed  at  that  hair  like  a  halo  of 
light,  at  those  romantic  features  and  up 
turned  eyes,  she  fell  to  crying  and  kissing 
them. 

Hilda  slowly  turned  and  watched  the 
spectacle — the  swollen,  pudgy  face,  tear- 
stained,  silly,  ugly,  the  tears  and  kisses 
falling  upon  the  likeness  of  her  lover. 
She  suddenly  sprang  at  Lena,  her  face 
like  a  thunder-storm,  her  black  brows 
straight  and  her  great  eyes  flashing.  "You 
lie !"  she  exclaimed.  And  she  tore  the  pho 
tograph  from  Lena's  hands  and  clasped  it 
to  her  bosom. 

Lena  shrank  in  physical  fear  from  this 
aroused  lioness.  "He's  my  husband,"  she 
whined.  "You  haven't  got  any  right  to  his 
picture." 

"You  lie!"  repeated  Hilda,  throwing 
back  her  head. 

"It's  the  truth,"  said  Lena,  beginning 
to  cry.  "I  swear  to  God  it's  so.  You  can 
137 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

ask  pa  if  it  ain't.  He's  Mr.  Ganser,  the 
brewer." 

"Who  sent  you  here  to  lie  about  him  to 
me?" 

"Oh,  you  needn't  put  on.  You  knew  he 
was  married.  I  don't  wonder  you're  mad. 
He's  my  husband,  while  he's  only  been 
making  a  fool  of  you.  You  haven't  got 
any  shame."  Lena's  eyes  were  on  the 
photograph  again  and  her  jealousy  over 
balanced  fear.  She  laughed  tauntingly. 
"Of  course  you're  trying  to  brazen  it  out. 
Give  me  that  picture!  He's  my  husband!" 

Just  then  Ganser  appeared  in  the  door 
way — he  did  not  trust  his  daughter  and 
had  followed  her  when  he  thought  she  was 
staying  too  long.  At  sight  of  him  she 
began  to  weep  again.  "She  won't  believe 
me,  pa,"  she  said.  "Look  at  her  standing 
there  hugging  his  picture." 

Ganser  scowled  at  his  daughter  and  ad 
dressed  himself  to  Hilda.  "It's  true, 
133 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

Miss,"  he  said.  "The  man  is  a  scoundrel. 
I  sent  my  daughter  to  warn  you." 

Hilda  looked  at  him  haughtily.  "I 
don't  know  you,"  she  said,  "and  I  do  know 
him.  I  don't  know  why  you've  come  here 
to  slander  him.  But  I  do  know  that  I'd 
trust  him  against  the  whole  world."  She 
glanced  from  father  to  daughter.  "You 
haven't  done  him  any  harm  and  you  might 
as  well  go." 

Peter  eyed  her  in  disgust.  "You're  as 
big  a  fool  as  my  Lena,"  he  said.  "Come 
on,  Lena." 

As  Lena  was  leaving  the  room,  she  gave 
Hilda  a  malignant  glance.  "He's  my  hus 
band,"  she  said  spitefully,  "and  you're — 
well,  I  wouldn't  want  to  say  what  you 


are." 


"Move!"  shouted  Ganser,  pushing  her 
out  of  the  room.  His  parting  shot  at 
Hilda  was:  "Ask  him." 

Hilda,  still  holding  the  photograph, 
189 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

stared  at  the  doorway  through  which  they 
had  disappeared.  "You  lie!"  she  repeated, 
as  if  they  were  still  there.  Then  again, 
a  little  catch  in  her  voice:  "You  lie!" 
And  after  a  longer  interval,  a  third  time, 
with  a  sob  in  her  throat:  "You  lie!  I  know 
you  lie!"  She  sat  at  the  table  and  held  the 
photograph  before  her.  She  kissed  it  pas 
sionately,  gazed  long  at  it,  seeing  in  those 
bold  handsome  features  all  that  her  heart's 
love  believed  of  him. 

Suddenly  she  started  up,  went  rapidly 
down  the  side  hall  and  out  into  the  street. 
Battling  with  her  doubts,  denouncing  her 
self  as  disloyal  to  him,  she  hurried  up  the 
Avenue  and  across  the  Square  and  on  until 
she  came  to  his  lodgings.  When  she  asked 
for  him  the  maid  opened  the  parlor  door 
and  called  through  the  crack:  "Mr.  Feu- 
erstein,  a  lady  wants  to  see  you." 

As  the  maid  disappeared  down  the  base 
ment  stairs,  Mr.  Feuerstein  appeared.  At 

140 


LOVE  IN  SEVERAL  ASPECTS 

sight  of  her  he  started  back.  "Hilda!"  he 
exclaimed  theatrically,  and  frowned. 

"Don't  be  angry  with  me,"  she  said 
humbly.  "I  wouldn't  have  come,  only — " 

"You  must  go  at  once!"  His  tone  was 
abrupt,  irritated. 

"Yes — I  will.  I  just  wanted  to  warn 
you — "  She  raised  her  eyes  appealingly 
toward  his  face.  "Two  people  came  to  see 
me  to-night — Mr.  Ganser  and  his  daugh 
ter—" 

Feuerstein  fell  back  a  step  and  she  saw 
that  he  was  shaking  and  that  his  face  had 
become  greenish  white.  "It's  false!"  he 
blustered.  "False  as  hell!" 

And  she  knew  that  it  was  true. 

She  continued  to  look  at  him  and  he  did 
not  try  to  meet  her  eyes.  "What  did  they 
tell  you?"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  re 
membering  that  he  had  denied  before  a 
charge  had  been  made. 

She  was  looking  away  from  him  now. 

141 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

She  seemed  not  to  have  heard  him.  "I 
must  go,"  she  murmured,  and  began  slow 
ly  to  descend  the  stoop. 

He  followed  her,  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
arm.  "Hilda!"  he  pleaded.  "Let  me  ex 
plain!" 

"Don't  touch  me!"  She  snatched  her 
arm  away  from  him.  She  ran  down  the 
rest  of  the  steps  and  fled  along  the  street. 
She  kept  close  to  the  shadow  of  the  houses. 
She  went  through  Avenue  A  with  hang 
ing  head,  feeling  that  the  eyes  of  all  were 
upon  her,  condemning,  scorning.  She  hid 
herself  in  her  little  room,  locking  the  door. 
Down  beside  the  bed  she  sank  and  buried 
her  face  in  the  covers.  And  there  she 
lay,  racked  with  the  pain  of  her  gaping 
wounds — wounds  to  love,  to  trust,  to 
pride,  to  self-respect.  "Oh,  God,  let  me 
die,"  she  moaned.  "I  can't  ever  look  any 
body  in  the  face  again." 


142 


VIII 

A   SHEEP  WIELDS  THE  SHEARS 

A  few  days  later  Peter  Ganser  ap 
peared  before  Beck,  triumph  flaunting 
from  his  stupid  features.  Beck  instantly 
scented  bad  news. 

"Stop  the  case,"  said  Peter  with  a  vul 
gar  insolence  that  grated  upon  the  law 
yer.  "It's  no  good." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Ganser.  I 
don't  follow  you." 

"But  I  follow  myself.  Stop  the  case.  I 
pay  you  off  now." 

"You  can't  deal  with  courts  as  you  can 
with  your  employees,  Mr.  Ganser.  There 
are  legal  forms  to  be  gone  through.  Of 
course,  if  you're  reconciled  to  your  son- 
in-law,  why — " 

Peter    laughed.     ''Son-in-law!     That 

143 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

scoundrel — he's  a  bigamist.  I  got  the 
proofs  from  Germany  this  morning." 

Beck  became  blue  round  the  edges  of 
his  mouth  and  his  eyes  snapped.  "So 
you've  been  taking  steps  in  this  case  with 
out  consulting  me,  Mr.  Ganser?" 

"I  don't  trust  lawyers.  Anyway,  what 
I  hire  you  for?  To  try  my  case.  It's  none 
of  your  business  what  I  do  outside.  I  pay 
you  off,  and  I  don't  pay  for  any  dirty 
works  I  don't  get."  He  had  wrought  him 
self  into  a  fury.  Experience  had  taught 
him  that  that  was  the  best  mood  in  which 
to  conduct  an  argument  about  money. 

"We'll  send  you  your  bill,"  said  Beck, 
in  a  huge,  calm  rage  against  this  dull  man 
who  had  outwitted  him.  "If  you  wish  to 
make  a  scene,  will  you  kindly  go  else 
where?" 

"I  want  to  pay  you  off — right  away 
quick.  I  think  you  and  Loeb  in  cahoots. 
My  detective,  he  says  you  both  must  have 

144 


A  SHEEP  WIELDS  THE  SHEARS 

known  about  Feuerstein.  He  says  you  two 
were  partners  and  knew  his  record.  I'll 
expose  you,  if  you  don't  settle  now.  Give 
me  my  bill." 

"It  is  impossible."  Beck's  tone  was  mild 
and  persuasive.  "All  the  items  are  not  in." 

Ganser  took  out  a  roll  of  notes.  "I  pay 
you  five  hundred  dollars.  Take  it  or  fight. 
I  want  a  full  receipt.  I  discharge  you 


now." 


"My  dear  sir,  we  do  not  give  our  ser 
vices  for  any  such  sum  as  that." 

"Yes — you  do.  And  you  don't  get  a 
cent  more.  If  I  go  out  of  here  without 
my  full  receipt,  I  fight.  I  expose  you,  you 
swindler." 

Peter  was  shouting  at  the  top  of  his 
lusty  lungs.  Beck  wrote  a  receipt  and 
handed  it  to  him.  Peter  read  it  and  handed 
it  back.  "I'm  not  as  big  a  fool  as  I  look," 
he  said.  "That  ain't  a  full  receipt." 

Beck  wrote  again.    "Anything  to  get 

145 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

you  out  of  the  office,"  he  said,  as  he  tossed 
the  five  hundred  dollars  into  a  drawer. 
"And  when  your  family  gets  you  into 
trouble  again — " 

Peter  snorted.  "Shut  up!"  he  shouted, 
banging  his  fist  on  the  desk.  "And  don't 
you  tell  the  papers.  If  anything  come  out, 
I  expose  you.  My  lawyer,  Mr.  Windisch, 
say  he  can  have  you  put  out  of  court." 
And  Peter  bustled  and  slammed  his  way 
out. 

Beck  telephoned  Loeb,  and  they  took 
lunch  together.  "Ganser  has  found  out 
about  Feuerstein's  wife,"  was  Beck's 
opening  remark. 

Loeb  drew  his  lip  back  over  his  teeth. 
"I  wish  I'd  known  it  two  hours  sooner. 
I  let  Feuerstein  have  ten  dollars  more." 

"More?" 

"More.  He's  had  ninety-five  on  ac 
count.  I  relied  on  you  to  handle  the 
brewer." 

146 


A  SHEEP  WIELDS  THE  SHEARS 

"And  we're  out  our  expenses  in  getting 
ready  for  trial. " 

"Well — you'll  send  Ganser  a  heavy 
bill." 

Beck  shook  his  head  dismally.  "That's 
the  worst  of  it.  He  called  me  a  swindler, 
said  he'd  show  that  you  and  I  were  in  a 
conspiracy,  and  dared  me  to  send  him  a 
bill.  And  in  the  circumstances  I  don't 
think  I  will." 

Loeb  gave  Beck  a  long  and  searching 
look  which  Beck  bore  without  flinching. 
"No,  I  don't  think  you  will  send  him  a 
bill,"  said  Loeb  slowly.  "But  how  much 
did  he  pay  you?" 

"Not  a  cent — nothing  but  insults." 

Loeb  finished  his  luncheon  in  silence. 
But  he  and  Beck  separated  on  the  friend 
liest  terms.  Loeb  was  too  practical  a  phi 
losopher  to  hate  another  man  for  doing 
that  which  he  would  have  done  himself  if 
he  had  had  the  chance.  At  his  office  he  told 
147 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

a  clerk  to  send  Feuerstein  a  note,  asking 
him  to  call  the  next  morning.  When  Feu 
erstein  came  into  the  anteroom  the  gimlet- 
eyed  office  boy  disappeared  through  one  of 
the  doors  in  the  partition  and  reappeared 
after  a  longer  absence  than  usual.  He 
looked  at  Feuerstein  with  a  cynical,  con 
temptuous  smile  in  his  eyes. 

"Mr.  Loeb  asks  me  to  tell  you,"  he  said, 
"with  his  compliments,  that  you  are  a  biga 
mist  and  a  swindler,  and  that  if  you  ever 
show  your  face  here  again  he'll  have  you 
locked  up." 

Feuerstein  staggered  and  paled — there 
was  no  staginess  in  his  manner.  Then 
without  a  word  he  slunk  away.  He  had 
not  gone  far  up  Center  Street  before  a 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder  from  be 
hind.  He  stopped  as  if  he  had  been  shot; 
he  shivered ;  he  slowly,  and  with  a  look  of 
fascinated  horror,  turned  to  see  whose 
hand  had  arrested  him* 
us 


A  SHEEP  WIELDS  THE  SHEARS 

He  was  looking  into  the  laughing  face 
of  a  man  who  was  obviously  a  detective. 
"You  don't  seem  glad  to  see  me,  old  boy," 
said  the  detective  with  contemptuous  fa 
miliarity. 

"I  don't  know  you,  sir."  Feuerstein 
made  a  miserable  attempt  at  haughtiness. 

"Of  course  you  don't.  But  I  know  you 
— all  about  you.  Come  in  here  and  let's 
sit  down  a  minute." 

They  went  into  a  saloon  and  the  detec 
tive  ordered  two  glasses  of  beer.  "Now 
listen  to  me,  young  fellow,"  he  said. 
"You're  played  out  in  this  town.  You've 
got  to  get  a  move  on  you,  see?  We've 
been  looking  you  up,  and  you're  wanted 
for  bigamy.  But  if  you  clear  out,  you 
won't  be  followed.  You've  got  to  leave  to 
day,  understand?  If  you're  here  to-mor 
row  morning,  up  the  road  you  go."  The 
detective  winked  and  waggled  his  thumb 
meaningly  in  a  northerly  direction. 

149 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Feuerstein  was  utterly  crushed.  He 
gulped  down  the  beer  and  sat  wiping  the 
sweat  from  his  face.  "I  have  done  noth 
ing,"  he  protested  in  tragic  tones.  "Why 
am  I  persecuted — I,  poor,  friendless,  help 
less?" 

"Pity  about  you,"  said  the  detective. 
"You'd  better  go  west  and  start  again. 
Why  not  try  honest  work?  It's  not  so  bad, 
they  say,  once  you  get  broke  in."  He  rose 
and  shook  hands  with  Feuerstein.  "So 
long,"  he  said.  "Good  luck!  Don't  for 
get!"  And  again  he  winked  and  waggled 
his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  peniten 
tiary. 

Feuerstein  went  to  his  lodgings,  put  on 
all  the  clothes  he  could  wear  without  dan 
ger  of  attracting  his  landlady's  attention, 
filled  his  pockets  and  the  crown  of  his  hat 
with  small  articles,  and  fled  to  Hoboken. 


150 


IX 

AN  IDYL,  OF  PLAIN   PEOPLE 

Hilda  had  not  spent  her  nineteen  years 
in  the  glare  of  the  Spartan  publicity  in 
which  the  masses  live  without  establishing 
a  character.  Just  as  she  knew  all  the  good 
points  and  bad  in  all  the  people  of  that 
community,  so  they  knew  all  hers,  and 
therefore  knew  what  it  was  possible  for 
her  to  do  and  what  impossible.  And  if  a 
baseless  lie  is  swift  of  foot  where  every 
body  minutely  scrutinizes  everybody  else, 
it  is  also  scant  of  breath.  Sophie's  scandal 
soon  dwindled  to  a  whisper  and  expired, 
and  the  kindlier  and  probable  explanation 
of  Hilda's  wan  face  and  downcast  eyes 
was  generally  accepted. 

Her  code  of  morals  and  her  method  of 
dealing  with  moral  questions  were  those 

151 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

of  all  the  people  about  her — strict,  severe, 
primitive.  Feuerstein  was  a  cheat,  a  trai 
tor.  She  cast  him  out  of  her  heart — cast 
him  out  at  once  and  utterly  and  for  ever. 
She  could  think  of  him  only  with  shame. 
And  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  herself 
no  longer  pure — she  had  touched  pitch; 
how  could  she  be  undefiled? 

She  accepted  these  conclusions  and  went 
about  her  work,  too  busy  to  indulge  in 
hysteria  of  remorse,  repining,  self-exami 
nation. 

She  avoided  Otto,  taking  care  not  to  be 
left  alone  with  him  when  he  called  on  Sun 
days,  and  putting  Sophie  between  him  and 
her  when  he  came  up  to  them  in  the 
Square.  But  Otto  was  awaiting  his 
chance,  and  when  it  came,  plunged  boldly 
into  his  heart-subject  and  floundered 
bravely  about.  "I  don't  like  to  see  you  so 
sad,  Hilda.  Isn't  there  any  chance  for 
me?  Can't  things  be  as  they  used  to  be?" 

152 


AN  IDYL  OF  PLAIN  PEOPLE 

Hilda  shook  her  head  sadly.  "I'm  never 
going  to  marry,"  she  said.  "You  must  find 
some  one  else." 

"It's  you  or  nobody.  I  said  that  when 
we  were  in  school  together  and — I'll  stick 
to  it."  His  eyes  confirmed  his  words. 

"You  mustn't,  Otto.  You  make  me  feel 
as  if  I  were  spoiling  your  life.  And  if  you 
knew,  you  wouldn't  want  to  marry  me." 

"I  don't  care.  I  always  have,  and  I  al 
ways  will." 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  she 
said,  half  to  herself.  She  turned  to  him 
suddenly,  and,  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
eyes  that  shifted,  burst  out:  "Otto,  he  was 
a  married  man!" 

"But  you  didn't  know.'' 

"It  doesn't  change  the  way  I  feel.  You 
might — any  man  might — throw  it  up  to 
me.  And  sooner  or  later,  everybody'll 
know.  No  man  would  want  a  girl  that  had 
had  a  scandal  like  that  on  her." 

153 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"I  would,"  he  said,  "and  I  do.  And  it 
isn't  a  scandal." 

Some  one  joined  them  and  he  had  no 
chance  to  continue  until  the  following 
Sunday,  when  Heiligs  and  Brauners  went 
together  to  the  Bronx  for  a  half-holiday. 
They  could  not  set  out  until  their  shops 
closed,  at  half -past  twelve,  and  they  had 
to  be  back  at  five  to  reopen  for  the  Sun 
day  supper  customers.  They  lunched  un 
der  the  trees  in  the  yard  of  a  German  inn, 
and  a  merry  party  they  were. 

Hilda  forgot  to  keep  up  her  pretense 
that  her  healing  wounds  were  not  healing 
and  never  would  heal.  She  teased  Otto 
and  even  flirted  with  him.  This  elevated 
her  father  and  his  mother  to  hilarity. 
They  were  two  very  sensible  young-old 
people,  with  a  keen  sense  of  humor — the 
experience  of  age  added  to  the  simplicity 
and  gaiety  of  youth. 

You  would  have  paused  to  admire  and 

154, 


They  lunched  under  the  trees  Page  154 


AN  IDYL  OF  PLAIN  PEOPLE 

envy  had  you  passed  that  way  and  looked 
in  under  the  trees,  as  they  clinked  glasses 
and  called  one  to  another  and  went  off  into 
gales  of  mirth  over  nothing  at  all.  What 
laughter  is  so  gay  as  laughter  at  nothing 
at  all?  Any  one  must  laugh  when  there 
is  something  to  laugh  at;  but  to  laugh 
just  because  one  must  have  an  outlet  for 
bubbling  spirits — there's  the  test  of  hap 
piness  ! 

After  luncheon  they  wandered  into  the 
woods  and  soon  Otto  and  Hilda  found 
themselves  alone,  seated  by  a  little  water 
fall,  which  in  a  quiet,  sentimental  voice 
suggested  that  low  tones  were  the  proper 
tones  to  use  in  that  place. 

"We've  known  each  other  always,  Hil 
da,"  said  Otto.  "And  we  know  all  about 
each  other.  Why  not — dear?" 

She  did  not  speak  for  several  minutes. 
"You  know  I  haven't  any  heart  to  give 
you,"  she  answered  at  last. 

155 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Otto  did  not  know  anything  of  the  kind, 
but  he  knew  she  thought  so,  and  he  was 
too  intelligent  to  dispute,  when  time  would 
settle  the  question — and,  he  felt  sure, 
would  settle  it  right.  So  he  reached  out 
and  took  her  hand  and  said:  "I'll  risk 
that." 

And  they  sat  watching  the  waterfall 
and  listening  to  it,  and  they  were  happy 
in  a  serious,  tranquil  way.  It  filled  him 
with  awe  to  think  that  he  had  at  last  won 
her.  As  for  her,  she  was  looking  forward, 
without  illusions,  without  regrets,  to  a  life 
of  work  and  content  beside  this  strong, 
loyal,  manly  man  who  protested  little,  but 
never  failed  her  or  any  one  else. 

On  the  way  home  in  the  train  she  told 
her  mother,  and  her  mother  told  her  fa 
ther.  He,  then  and  there,  to  the  great  de 
light  and  pleasure  of  the  others  in  the  car, 
rose  up  and  embraced  and  kissed  first  his 
daughter,  then  Otto  and  then  Otto's 

156 


AN  IDYL  OF  PLAIN  PEOPLE 

mother.  And  every  once  in  a  while  he 
beamed  down  the  line  of  his  party  and 
said:  "This  is  a  happy  day!" 

And  he  made  them  all  come  into  the  sit 
ting-room  back  of  the  shop.  "Wait  here," 
he  commanded.  "No  one  must  move !" 

He  went  down  to  the  cellar,  presently 
to  reappear  with  a  dusty  bottle  of  Johan- 
nisberger  Cabinet.  He  pointed  proudly  to 
the  seal.  "Bronze!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is 
wine  like  gold.  It  must  be  drunk  slowly." 
He  drew  the  cork  and  poured  the  wine 
with  great  ceremony,  and  they  all  drank 
with  much  touching  of  glasses  and  bow 
ing  and  exchanging  of  good  wishes,  now 
in  German,  now  in  English,  again  in  both. 
And  the  last  toast,  the  one  drunk  with  the 
greatest  enthusiasm,  was  Brauner's  favor 
ite  famous  "Arbeit  und  Liebe  und 
Heim!" 

From  that  time  forth  Hilda  began  to 
look  at  Otto  from  a  different  point  of 
157 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

view.   And  everything  depends  on  point 
of  view. 


Then — the  house  in  which  Schwartz  and 
Heilig  had  their  shop  was  burned.  And 
when  their  safe  was  drawn  from  the  ruins, 
they  found  that  their  insurance  had  ex 
pired  four  days  before  the  fire.  It  was 
Schwartz's  business  to  look  after  the  insur 
ance,  but  Otto  had  never  before  failed  to 
oversee.  His  mind  had  been  in  such  con 
fusion  that  he  had  forgotten. 

He  stared  at  the  papers,  stunned  by  the 
disaster.  Schwartz  wrung  his  hands  and 
burst  into  tears.  "I  saw  that  you  were  in 
trouble,"  he  wailed,  "and  that  upset  me. 
It's  my  fault.  I've  ruined  us  both." 

There  was  nothing  left  of  their  business 
or  capital,  nothing  but  seven  hundred  dol 
lars  in  debts  to  the  importers  of  whom  they 
bought. 

Heilig  shook  off  his  stupor  after  a  few 

158 


AN  IDYL  OF  PLAIN  PEOPLE 

minutes.  "No  matter,"  he  said.  "What's 
past  is  past." 

He  went  straightway  over  to  Second 
Avenue  to  the  shop  of  Geishener,  the 
largest  delicatessen  dealer  in  New  York. 
"I've  been  burned  out,"  he  explained.  "I 
must  get  something  to  do." 

Geishener  offered  him  a  place  at  eleven 
dollars  a  week.  "I'll  begin  in  the  morn 
ing,"  said  Otto.  Then  he  went  to  Paul 
Brauner. 

"When  will  you  open  up  again?"  asked 
Brauner. 

"Not  for  a  long  time,  several  years. 
Everything's  gone  and  I've  taken  a  place 
with  Geishener.  I  came  to  say  that — that 
I  can't  marry  your  daughter." 

Brauner  did  not  know  what  answer  to 
make.  He  liked  Otto  and  had  confidence 
in  him.  But  the  masses  of  the  people  build 
their  little  fortunes  as  coral  insects  build 
their  islands.  And  Hilda  was  getting 

159 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

along — why,  she  would  be  twenty  in  four 
months.  "I  don't  know.  I  don't  know." 
Brauner  rubbed  his  head  in  embarrass 
ment  and  perplexity.  "It's  bad — very 
bad.  And  everything  was  running  so 
smoothly." 

Hilda  came  in.  Both  men  looked  at  her 
guiltily.  "What  is  it?"  she  asked.  And  if 
they  had  not  been  mere  men  they  would 
have  noticed  a  change  in  her  face,  a  great 
change,  very  wonderful  and  beautiful  to 
see. 

"I  came  to  release  you,"  said  Otto. 
"I've  got  nothing  left — and  a  lot  of  debts. 
I—" 

"Yes — I  know,"  interrupted  Hilda. 
She  went  up  to  him  and  put  her  arm  round 
his  neck.  "We'll  have  to  begin  at  the  bot 
tom,"  she  said  with  a  gentle,  cheerful 
smile. 

Brauner  pretended  that  he  heard  some 
one  calling  him  from  the  shop.    "Yes— 
160 


AN  IDYL  OF  PLAIN  PEOPLE 

right  away!"  he  shouted.  And  when  he 
was  alone  in  the  shop  he  wiped  his  eyes,  not 
before  a  large  tear  had  blistered  the  top 
sheet  of  a  pile  of  wrapping  paper. 

"I  know  you  don't  care  for  me  as — as" 
— Otto  was  standing  uneasily,  his  eyes 
down  and  his  face  red.  "It  was  hard 
enough  for  you  before.  Now — I  couldn't 
let  you  do  it — dear." 

"You  can't  get  rid  of  me  so  easily,"  she 
said.  "I  know  I'm  getting  along  and  I 
won't  be  an  old  maid." 

He  paid  no  attention  to  her  raillery.  "I 
haven't  got  anything  to  ask  you  to  share," 
he  went  on.  "I've  been  working  ever  since 
I  was  eleven — and  that's  fourteen  years 
— to  get  what  I  had.  And  it's  all  gone. 
It'll  take  several  years  to  pay  off  my 
debts,  and  mother  must  be  supported.  No 
— I've  got  to  give  it  up." 

"Won't  you  marry  me,  Otto?"  She  put 
her  arms  round  his  neck. 
161 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

His  lips  trembled  and  his  voice  broke. 
"I  can't— let  you  do  it,  Hilda." 

"Very  well."  She  pretended  to  sigh. 
"But  you  must  come  back  this  evening.  I 
want  to  ask  you  again." 

"Yes,  I'll  come.  But  you  can't  change 


me." 


He  went,  and  she  sat  at  the  table,  with 
her  elbows  on  it  and  her  face  between  her 
hands,  until  her  father  came  in.  Then  she 
said:  "We're  going  to  be  married  next 
week.  And  I  want  two  thousand  dollars. 
We'll  give  you  our  note." 

Brauner  rubbed  his  face  violently. 

"We're  going  to  start  a  delicatessen," 
she  continued,  "in  the  empty  store  where 
Bischoff  was.  It'll  take  two  thousand  dol 
lars  to  start  right." 

"That's  a  good  deal  of  money,"  ob 
jected  her  father. 

"You  only  get  three  and  a  half  per 
cent,  in  the  savings  bank,"  replied  Hilda. 
162 


AN  IDYL  OF  PLAIN  PEOPLE 

"We'll  give  you  six.  You  know  it'll  be 
safe — Otto  and  I  together  can't  fail  to  do 
well." 

Brauner  reflected.   "You  can  have  the 
money,"  he  said. 

She  went  up  the  Avenue  humming  soft 
ly  one  of  Heine's  love  songs,  still  with  that 
wonderful,  beautiful  look  in  her  eyes.  She 
stopped  at  the  tenement  with  the  vacant 
store.  The  owner,  old  man  Schulte,  was 
sweeping  the  sidewalk.  He  Had  an  income 
of  fifteen  thousand  a  year;  but  he  held 
that  he  needed  exercise,  that  sweeping  was 
good  exercise,  and  that  it  was  stupid  for  a 
man,  simply  because  he  was  rich,  to  stop 
taking  exercise  or  to  take  it  only  in  some 
form  which  had  no  useful  side. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Hilda.  "What 
rent  do  you  ask  for  this  store?" 

"Sixty  dollars  a  month/*  answered  the 
old  man,  continuing  his  sweeping.  "Taxes 
are  up,  but  rents  are  down.'5 
163 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Not  with  you,  I  guess.  Otto  Heilig 
and  I  are  going  to  get  married  and  open 
a  delicatessen.  But  sixty  dollars  a  month 
is  too  much.  Good  morning."  And  she 
went  on. 

Schulte  leaned  on  his  broom.  "What's 
your  hurry?"  he  called.  "You  can't  get  as 
good  a  location  as  this." 

Hilda  turned,  but  seemed  to  be  listening 
from  politeness  rather  than  from  interest. 
"We  can't  pay  more  than  forty,"  she  an 
swered,  starting  on  her  way  again. 

"I  might  let  you  have  it  for  fifty," 
Schulte  called  after  her,  "if  you  didn't 
want  any  fixing  up." 

"It'd  have  to  be  fixed  up,"  said  Hilda, 
halting  again.  "But  I  don't  care  much 
for  the  neighborhood.  There  are  too  many 
delicatessens  here  now." 

She  went  on  more  rapidly  and  the  old 
man  resumed  his  sweeping,  muttering 
crossly  into  his  long,  white  beard.  As  she 

164 


AN  IDYL  OF  PLAIN  PEOPLE 

came  down  the  other  side  of  the  street  half 
an  hour  later,  she  was  watching  Schulte 
from  the  corner  of  her  eye.  He  was  lean 
ing  on  his  broom,  watching  her.  Seeing 
that  she  was  going  to  pass  without  stop 
ping  he  called  to  her  and  went  slowly 
across  the  street.  "You  would  make  good 
tenants,"  he  said.  "I  had  to  sue  Bischoff. 
You  can  have  it  for  forty — if  you'll  pay 
for  the  changes  you  want — you  really 
won't  want  any." 

"I  was  looking  at  it  early  this  morn 
ing,"  replied  Hilda.  "There'll  have  to  be 
at  least  two  hundred  dollars  spent.  But 
then  I've  my  eye  on  another  place." 

"Forty's  no  rent  at  all,"  grumbled  the 
old'man,  pulling  at  his  whiskers. 

"I  can  get  a  store  round  in  Seventh 
Street  for  thirty-five  and  that  includes 
three  rooms  at  the  back.  You've  got  only 
one  room  at  the  back." 

"There's  a  kitchen,  too,"  said  Schulte. 

165 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"A  kitchen?  Oh,  you  mean  that  closet." 

"'Til  let  you  have  it  for  forty,  with  fifty 
the  second  year." 

"No,  forty  for  two  years.  We  can't  pay 
more.  We're  just  starting,  and  expenses 
must  be  kept  down." 

"Well,  forty  then.  You  are  nice  people 
— hard  workers.  I  want  to  see  you  get 
on."  The  philanthropic  old  man  returned 
to  his  sweeping.  "Always  the  way,  deal 
ing  with  a  woman,"  he  growled  into  his 
beard.  "They  don't  know  the  value  of 
anything.  Well,  I'll  get  my  money  any 
way,  and  that's  a  point." 

She  spent  the  day  shopping  and  by 
half -past  five  had  her  arrangements  al 
most  completed.  And  she  told  every  one 
about  the  coming  marriage  and  the  new 
shop  and  asked  them  to  spread  the  news. 
"We'll  be  open  for  business  next  Satur 
day  a  week,"  she  said.  "Give  us  a  trial." 

By  nightfall  Otto  was  receiving  con- 
166 


AN  IDYL  OF  PLAIN  PEOPLE 

gratulations.  He  protested,  denied,  But 
people  only  smiled  and  winked.  "You're 
not  so  sly  as  you  think,"  they  said.  "No 
doubt  she  promised  to  keep  it  quiet,  but 
you  know  how  it  is  with  a  woman." 

When  he  called  at  Brauner's  at  seven 
he  was  timid  about  going  in.  "They've 
heard  the  story,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
they  must  think  I  went  crazy  and  told  it." 

She  had  been  bold  enough  all  day,  but 
she  was  shy,  now  that  the  time  had  come  to 
face  him  and  confess — she  had  been  a  little 
shy  with  him  underneath  ever  since  she  had 
suddenly  awakened  to  the  fact  that  he  was 
a  real  hero — in  spite  of  his  keeping  a  shop 
just  like  everybody  else  and  making  no 
pretenses.  He  listened  without  a  word. 

"You  can't  back  out  now,"  she  ended. 

Still  he  was  silent.  "Are  you  angry  at 
me?"  she  asked  timidly. 

He  could  not  speak.  He  put  his  arms 
round  her  and  pressed  his  face  into  her 
167 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

waving  black  hair.  "My  Hilda,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice.  And  she  felt  his  blood  beat 
ing  very  fast,  and  she  understood. 

"Arbeit  und  Liebe  und  Heim"   she 
quoted  slowly  and  softly. 


168 


MR.   FEUERSTEIN   IS   CONSISTENT 

The  next  day  Mr.  Feuerstein  returned 
from  exile.  It  is  always  disillusioning  to 
inspect  the  unheroic  details  of  the  life  of 
that  favorite  figure  with  romancers — the 
soldier  of  fortune.  Of  Mr.  Feuerstein's 
six  weeks  in  Hoboken  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  they  were  weeks  of  storm  and  stress — 
wretched  lodgments  in  low  boarding- 
houses,  odd  jobs  at  giving  recitations  in 
beer  halls,  undignified  ejectments  for 
drunkenness  and  failure  to  pay,  borrow 
ings  which  were  removed  from  frank 
street-begging  only  in  his  imagination. 
He  sank  very  low  indeed,  but  it  must 
be  recorded  to  the  credit  of  his  con 
sistency  that  he  never  even  contemplat 
ed  the  idea  of  working  for  a  living. 
169 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

And  now  here  he  was,  back  in  New  York, 
with  Hoboken  an  exhausted  field,  with  no 
resources,  no  hopes,  no  future  that  his 
brandy-soaked  brain  could  discern. 

His  mane  was  still  golden  and  bushy; 
but  it  was  ragged  and  too  long  in  front 
of  the  ears  and  also  on  his  neck.  His  face 
still  expressed  insolence  and  vanity;  but 
it  had  a  certain  tragic  bitterness,  as  if  it 
were  trying  to  portray  the  emotions  of  a 
lofty  spirit  flinging  defiance  at  destiny 
from  a  slough  of  despair.  It  was  plain 
that  he  had  been  drinking  heavily — the 
whites  of  his  eyes  were  yellow  and  blood 
shot,  the  muscles  of  his  eyelids  and  mouth 
twitched  disagreeably.  His  romantic  hat 
and  collar  and  graceful  suit  could  endure 
with  good  countenance  only  the  most  cas 
ual  glance  of  the  eye. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  had  come  to  New  York 
to  perform  a  carefully-planned  last  act  in 
his  life-drama,  one  that  would  send  the 
170 


"  Mr.  Feuerstein  !  "    she  exclaimed         Page  171 


FEUERSTEIN     IS     CONSISTENT 

curtain  down  amid  tears  and  plaudits  for 
Mr.  Feuerstein,  the  central  figure,  en 
wrapped  in  a  somber  and  baleful  blaze  of 
glory.  He  had  arranged  everything  ex 
cept  such  details  as  must  be  left  to  the  in 
spiration  of  the  moment.  He  was  impa 
tient  for  the  curtain  to  rise — besides,  he 
had  empty  pockets  and  might  be  prevent 
ed  from  his  climax  by  a  vulgar  arrest  for 
vagrancy. 

At  one  o'clock  Hilda  was  in  her  father's 
shop  alone.  The  rest  of  the  family  were 
at  the  midday  dinner.  As  she  bent  over 
the  counter,  near  the  door,  she  was  filling 
a  sheet  of  wrapping  paper  with  figures — 
calculations  in  connection  with  the  new 
business.  A  shadow  fell  across  her  paper 
and  she  looked  up.  She  shrank  and 
clasped  her  hands  tightly  against  her  bos 
om.  "Mr.  Feuerstein!"  she  exclaimed  in 
a  low,  agitated  voice. 

He  stood  silent,  his  face  ghastly  as  if 
171 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

he  were  very  ill.  His  eyes,  sunk  deep  in 
blue-black  sockets,  burned  into  hers  with 
an  intensity  that  terrified  her.  She  began 
slowly  to  retreat. 

"Do  not  fly  from  me,"  he  said  in  a  hol 
low  voice,  leaning  against  the  counter 
weakly.  "I  have  come  only  for  a  moment. 
Then — you  will  see  me — never  again!" 

She  paused  and  watched  him.  His  ex 
pression,  his  tone,  his  words  filled  her  with 
pity  for  him. 

"You  hate  me,"  he  went  on.  "You  ab 
hor  me.  It  is  just — just!  Yet" — he  looked 
at  her  with  passionate  sadness — "it  was  be 
cause  I  loved  you  that  I  deceived  you. 
Because — I — loved  you!" 

"You  must  go  away,"  said  Hilda, 
pleading  rather  than  commanding. 
"You've  done  me  enough  harm." 

"I  shall  harm  you  no  more."  He  drew 
himself  up  in  gloomy  majesty.  "I  have 
finished  my  life.  I  am  bowing  my  f are- 

172 


FEUERSTEIN    IS    CONSISTENT 

well.  Another  instant,  and  I  shall  vanish 
into  the  everlasting  night." 

"That  would  be  cowardly!"  exclaimed 
Hilda.  She  was  prof oundly  moved.  "You 
have  plenty  to  live  for." 

"Do  you  forgive  me,  Hilda?"  He  gave 
her  one  of  his  looks  of  tragic  eloquence. 

"Yes — I  forgive  you.5' 

He  misunderstood  the  gentleness  of  her 
voice.  "She  loves  me  still!"  he  said  to  him 
self.  "We  shall  die  together  and  our 
names  will  echo  down  the  ages."  He 
looked  burningly  at  her  and  said:  "I  was 
mad — mad  with  love  for  you.  And  when 
I  realized  that  I  had  lost  you,  I  went 
down,  down,  down.  God!  What  have  I 
not  suffered  for  your  sake,  Hilda!"  As 
he  talked  he  convinced  himself,  pictured 
himself  to  himself  as  having  been  drawn 
on  by  a  passion  such  as  had  ruined  many 
others  of  the  great  of  earth. 

"That's  all  past  now."  She  spoke  im- 
173 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

patiently,  irritated  against  herself  because 
she  was  not  hating  him.  "I  don't  care  to 
hear  any  more  of  that  kind  of  talk." 

A  customer  came  in,  and  while  Hilda 
was  husy  Mr.  Feuerstein  went  to  the  rear 
counter.  On  a  chopping  block  lay  a  knife 
with  a  long,  thin  blade,  ground  to  a  fine 
edge  and  a  sharp  point.  He  began  to  play 
with  it,  and  presently,  with  a  sly,  almost 
insane  glance  to  assure  himself  that  she 
was  not  seeing,  slipped  it  into  the  right 
outside  pocket  of  his  coat.  The  customer 
left  and  he  returned  to  the  front  of  the 
shop  and  stood  with  just  the  breadth  of 
the  end  of  the  narrow  counter  between  him 
and  her. 

"It's  all  over  for  me,"  he  began.  "Your 
love  has  failed  me.  There  is  nothing  left. 
I  shall  fling  myself  through  the  gates  of 
death.  I  shall  be  forgotten.  And  you  will 
live  on  and  laugh  and  not  remember  that 
you  ever  had  such  love  as  mine." 
174 


FEUERSTEIN    IS    CONSISTENT 

Another  customer  entered.  Mr.  Feuer- 
stein  again  went  to  the  rear  of  the  space 
outside  the  counters.  "She  loves  me.  She 
will  gladly  die  with  me,"  he  muttered. 
"First  into  her  heart,  then  into  mine,  and 
we  shall  be  at  peace,  dead,  as  lovers  and 
heroes  die!" 

When  they  were  again  alone,  he  ad 
vanced  and  began  to  edge  round  the  end 
of  the  counter.  She  was  no  longer  look 
ing  at  him,  did  not  note  his  excitement, 
was  thinking  only  of  how  to  induce  him  to 
go.  "Hilda,"  he  said,  "I  have  one  last  re 
quest — a  dying  man's  request — " 

The  counter  was  no  longer  between 
thenir  He  was  within  three  feet  of  her. 
His  right  hand  was  in  his  coat  pocket, 
grasping  the  knife.  His  eyes  began  to 
blaze  and  he  nerved  himself  to  seize  her — 

Both  heard  her  father's  voice  in  the  hall 
leading  to  the  sitting-room.    "You  must 
go,"  she  cried,  hastily  retreating. 
175 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Hilda,"  he  pleaded  rapidly,  "there  is 
something  I  must  say  to  you.  I  can  not 
say  it  here.  Come  over  to  Meinert's  as  soon 
as  you  can.  I  shall  be  in  the  sitting-room. 
Just  for  a  moment,  Hilda.  It  might  save 
my  life.  If  not  that,  it  certainly  would 
make  my  death  happier." 

Brauner  was  advancing  into  the  shop 
and  his  lowering  face  warned  Mr.  Feuer- 
stein  not  to  linger.  With  a  last,  appealing 
look  at  Hilda  he  departed. 

"What  was  lie  doing  here?"  growled 
Brauner. 

"He'd  just  come  in,"  answered  Hilda 
absently.  "He  won't  bother  us  any  more." 

"If  he  comes  again,  don't  speak  to  him," 
said  Brauner  in  the  commanding  voice 
that  sounded  so  fierce  and  meant  so  little. 
"Just  call  me  or  August." 

Hilda  could  not  thrust  him  out  of  her 
mind.  His  looks,  his  tones,  his  dramatic 
melancholy  saddened  her;  and  his  last 
176 


FEUERSTEIN    IS    CONSISTENT 

words  rang  in  her  ears.  She  no  longer 
loved  him;  but  she  had  loved  him.  She 
could  not  think  of  him  as  a  stranger  and 
an  enemy — there  might  be  truth  in  his 
plea  that  he  had  in  some  mysterious  way 
fallen  through  love  for  her.  She  might 
be  able  to  save  him. 

Almost  mechanically  she  left  the  shop, 
went  to  Sixth  Street  and  to  the  "family 
entrance"  of  Meinert's  beer-garden.  She 
went  into  the  little  anteroom  and,  with 
her  hand  on  the  swinging  door  leading  to 
the  sitting-room,  paused  like  one  waking 
from  a  dream. 

"I  must  be  crazy,"  she  said  half  aloud. 
"He's  a  scoundrel  and  no  good  can  come 
of  my  seeing  him.  What  would  Otto  think 
of  me?  What  am  I  doing  here?"  And  she 
hastened  away,  hoping  that  no  one  had 
seen  her. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  was  seated  at  a  table  a 
few  feet  from  where  she  had  paused  and 
177 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

turned  back.  He  had  come  in  half  an 
hour  before  and  had  ordered  and  drunk 
three  glasses  of  cheap,  fiery  brandy.  As 
the  moments  passed  his  mood  grew  wilder 
and  more  somber.  "She  has  failed  me!" 
he  exclaimed.  He  called  for  pen,  ink  and 
paper.  He  wrote  rapidly  and,  when  he 
had  finished,  declaimed  his  production, 
punctuating  the  sentences  with  looks  and 
gestures.  His  voice  gradually  broke,  and 
he  uttered  the  last  words  with  sobs  and 
with  the  tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks. 
He  signed  his  name  with  a  flourish,  added 
a  postscript.  He  took  a  stamped  envelope 
from  his  pocket,  sealed  the  letter,  ad 
dressed  it  and  laid  it  before  him  on  the 
table.  "The  presence  of  death  inspired 
me,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  production 
with  tragic  pride.  And  he  called  for  an 
other  drink. 

When  the  waiter  brought  it,  he  lifted  it 
high  and,  standing  up,  bowed  as  if  some 
178 


FEUERSTEIN    IS     CONSISTENT 

one  were  opposite  him  at  the  table.  "I 
drink  to  you,  Death!"  he  said.  The  waiter 
stared  in  open-mouthed  astonishment,  and 
with  a  muttered,  "He's  luny!"  backed 
from  the  room. 

He  sat  again  and  drew  the  knife  from 
his  pocket  and  slid  his  finger  along  the 
edge.  "The  key  to  my  sleeping-room,"  he 
muttered,  half  imagining  that  a  vast  audi 
ence  was  watching  with  bated  breath. 

The  waiter  entered  and  he  hid  the  knife. 

"Away!"  he  exclaimed,  frowning  heav 
ily.  "I  wish  to  be  alone." 

"Mr.  Meinert  says  you  must  pay,"  said 
the  waiter.  "Four  drinks — sixty  cents." 

Mr.  Feuerstein  laughed  sardonically. 
"Pay!  Ha-ha!  Always  pay!  Another 
drink,  wretch,  and  I  shall  pay  for  all — for 
all!"  He  laughed,  with  much  shaking  of 
the  shoulders  and  rolling  of  the  eyes. 

When  the  waiter  had  disappeared  he 
muttered:  "I  can  wait  no  longer."  He 
179 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

took  the  knife,  held  it  at  arm's  length, 
blade  down.  He  turned  his  head  to  the 
left  and  closed  his  eyes.  Then  with  a  sud 
den  tremendous  drive  he  sent  the  long, 
narrow  blade  deep  into  his  neck.  The 
blood  spurted  out,  his  breath  escaped  from 
between  his  lips  with  long,  shuddering, 
subsiding  hisses.  His  body  stiffened,  col 
lapsed,  rolled  to  the  floor. 

Mr.  Feuerstein  was  dead — with  empty 
pockets  and  the  drinks  unpaid  for. 


180 


XI 

MR.  FEUERSTEIN'S  CLIMAX 

When  Otto  came  to  see  Hilda  that  even 
ing  she  was  guiltily  effusive  in  her  greet 
ing  and  made  up  her  mind  that,  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone,  she  must  tell  him  what 
she  had  all  but  done.  But  first  there  was 
the  game  of  pinochle  which  Otto  must  lose 
to  her  father.  As  they  sat  at  their  game 
she  was  at  the  zither-table,  dreamily  play 
ing  May  Breezes  as  she  watched  Otto  and 
thought  how  much  more  comfortable  she 
was  in  his  strong,  loyal  love  than  in  the 
unnatural  strain  of  Mr.  Feuerstein's  ec 
stasies.  "  'Work  and  love  and  home,'  "  she 
murmured,  in  time  to  her  music.  "Yes, 
father  is  right.  They  are  the  best." 

August  came  in  and  said:  "Hilda,  here 
are  two  men  who  want  to  see  you." 

181 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

As  he  spoke,  he  was  pushed  aside  and 
she,  her  father  and  Otto  sat  staring  at  the 
two  callers.  They  were  obviously  detect 
ives — "plain  clothes  men"  from  the  Fifth- 
Street  Station  House.  There  could  be  no 
chance  of  mistake  about  those  police  mus 
taches  and  jaws,  those  wide,  square-toed, 
police  shoes. 

"My  name  is  Casey  and  this  is  my  side- 
partner,  Mr.  O'Rourke,"  said  the  shorter 
and  fatter  of  the  two  as  they  seated  them 
selves  without  waiting  to  be  asked.  Casey 
took  off  his  hat;  O'Rourke's  hand  hesi 
tated  at  the  brim,  then  drew  his  hat  more 
firmly  down  upon  his  forehead.  "Sorry  to 
break  in  on  your  little  party,"  Casey  went 
on,  "but  the  Cap'n  sent  us  to  ask  the  young 
lady  a  few  questions." 

Hilda  grew  pale  and  her  father  and 
Otto  looked  frightened. 

"Do  you  know  an  actor  named  Feuer- 
stein?"  asked  Casey. 

182 


MR.   FEUERSTEIN'S   CLIMAX 

Hilda  trembled.  She  could  not  speak. 
She  nodded  assent. 

"Did  you  see  him  to-day?" 

"Yes,"  almost  whispered  Hilda. 

Casey  looked  triumphantly  at 
O'Rourke.  Otto  half  rose,  then  sank  back 
again.  "Where  did  you  see  him?"  asked 
Casey. 

"Here." 

"Where  else?" 

Hilda  nervously  laced  and  unlaced  her 
fingers.  "Only  here,"  she  answered  after 
a  pause. 

"Ah,  yes  you  did.  Come  now,  lady. 
Speak  the  truth.  You  saw  him  at  Mein- 
ert's." 

Hilda  started  violently.  The  detectives 
exchanged  significant  glances.  "No,"  she 
protested.  "I  saw  him  only  here." 

"Were  you  out  of  the  store  this  after 
noon?" 

A  long  pause,  then  a  faint  "Yes." 

183 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"Where  did  you  go?"  Casey  added. 

The  blood  flew  to  Hilda's  face,  then  left 
it.  "To  Meinert's,"  she  answered.  "But 
only  as  far  as  the  door." 

"Oh!"  said  Casey  sarcastically,  and 
O'Rourke  laughed.  "It's  no  use  to  hold 
back,  lady,"  continued  Casey.  "We  know 
all  about  your  movements.  You  went  in 
Meinert's — in  at  the  family  entrance." 

"Yes,"  replied  Hilda.  She  was  shaking 
as  if  she  were  having  a  chill.  "But  just 
to  the  door,  then  home  again." 

"Now,  that  won't  do,"  said  Casey 
roughly.  "You'd  better  tell  the  whole 
story." 

"Tell  them  aU  about  it,  Hilda,"  inter 
posed  her  father  in  an  agonized  tone. 
"Don't  hold  back  anything." 

"Oh — father — Otto — it  was  nothing.  I 
didn't  go  in.  He — Mr.  Feuerstein — came 
here,  and  he  looked  so  sick,  and  he  begged 
me  to  come  over  to  Meinert's  for  a  minute. 

184 


MR.   FEUERSTEIN'S   CLIMAX 

He  said  he  had  something  to  say  to  me. 
And  then  I  went.  But  at  the  door  I  got 
to  thinking  about  all  he'd  done,  and  I 
wouldn't  go  in.  I  just  came  back  home." 

"What  was  it  that  he  had  done,  lady?" 
asked  O'Rourke. 

"I  won't  tell,"  Hilda  flashed  out,  and 
she  started  up.  "It's  nobody's  business. 
Why  do  you  ask  me  all  these  questions?  I 
won't  answer  any  more." 

"Now,  now,  lady,"  said  Casey.  "Just 
keep  cool.  When  you  went,  what  did  you 
take  a  knife  from  the  counter  for?" 

"A  knife!"  Hilda  gasped,  and  she 
would  have  fallen  to  the  floor  had  not  Otto 
caught  her. 

"That  settles  it!"  said  Casey,  in  an  un 
dertone  to  O'Rourke.  "She's  it,  all  right. 
I  guess  she's  told  us  enough?" 

O'Rourke  nodded.  "The  Cap'n'll  get 
the  rest  out  of  her  when  he  puts  her 
through  the  third  degree.*' 

185 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

They  rose  and  Casey  said,  with  the 
roughness  of  one  who  is  afraid  of  his  in 
ward  impulses  to  gentleness:  "Come, 
lady,  get  on  your  things.  You're  going 
along  with  us." 

"No!  No!"  she  cried  in  terror,  flinging 
herself  into  her  father's  arms. 

Brauner  blazed  up.  "What  do  you 
mean?"  he  demanded,  facing  the  detect 
ives. 

"You'll  find  out  soon  enough,"  said 
Casey  in  a  blustering  tone.  "The  less  fuss 
you  make,  the  better  it'll  be  for  you.  She's 
got  to  go,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"This  is  an  outrage,"  interrupted  Otto, 
rushing  between  Hilda  and  the  detectives. 
"You  daren't  take  her  without  telling  her 
why.  You  can't  treat  us  like  dogs." 

"Drop  it!"  said  Casey  contemptuously. 
"Drop  it,  Dutchy.  I  guess  we  know  what 
we're  about." 

"Yes — and  I  know  what  I'm  about," 

186 


MR.   FEUERSTEIN'S   CLIMAX 

exclaimed  Otto.  "Do  you  know  Riordan, 
the  district  leader  here?  Well,  he's  a 
friend  of  mine.  If  we  haven't  got  any 
rights  you  police  are  bound  to  respect, 
thank  God,  we've  got  a  'pull'." 

"That's  a  bluff,"  said  Casey,  but  his 
tone  was  less  insolent.  "Well,  if  you  must 
know,  she's  wanted  for  the  murder  of  Carl 
Feuerstein." 

Hilda  flung  her  arms  high  above  her 
head  and  sank  into  a  chair  and  buried  her 
face.  "It's  a  dream!"  she  moaned.  "Wake 
me — wake  me !" 

Otto  and  Brauner  looked  each  at  the 
other  in  horror.  "Murder!"  whispered 
Brauner  hoarsely.  "My  Hilda — murder!" 

Otto  went  to  Hilda  and  put  his  arms 
about  her  tightly  and  kissed  her. 

"She's  got  to  come,"  said  Casey  angrily. 
"Now,  will  she  go  quietly  or  shall  I  call 
the  wagon?" 

This  threat  threw  them  into  a  panic. 

187 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"You'd  better  go,"  said  Otto  in  an  under 
tone  to  Hilda.  "Don't  be  frightened,  dear. 
You're  innocent  and  they  can't  prove  you 
guilty.  You're  not  poor  and  friendless." 

At  the  pressure  of  his  arms  Hilda  lifted 
her  face,  her  eyes  shining  at  him  through 
her  tears.  And  her  heart  went  out  to  him 
as  never  before.  From  that  moment  it  was 
his,  all  his.  "My  love,  my  dear  love,"  she 
said.  She  went  to  the  closet  and  took  out 
her  hat.  She  put  it  on  before  the  mirror 
over  the  mantelpiece.  "I'm  ready,"  she 
said  quietly. 

In  the  street,  she  walked  beside  Casey; 
her  father  and  Otto  were  close  behind  with 
O'Rourke.  They  turned  into  Sixth  Street. 
Half  a  block  down,  in  front  of  Meinert's, 
a  crowd  was  surging,  was  filling  sidewalk 
and  street.  When  they  came  to  the  edge  of 
it,  Casey  suddenly  said  "In  here"  and  took 
her  by  the  arm.  All  went  down  a  long  and 
winding  passage,  across  an  open  court  to 

188 


MR.   FEUERSTEIN'S   CLIMAX 

a  back  door  where  a  policeman  in  uniform 
was  on  guard. 

"Did  you  get  her,  Mike?"  said  the  po 
liceman  to  Casey. 

"Here  she  is,"  replied  Casey.  "She 
didn't  give  no  trouble." 

The  policeman  opened  the  door.  He 
let  Casey,  Hilda  and  O'Rourke  pass.  He 
thrust  back  Brauner  and  Otto.  "No,  you 
don't,"  he  said. 

"Let  us  in!"  commanded  Otto,  beside 
himself  with  rage. 

"Not  much!  Get  back!"  He  had  closed 
the  door  and  was  standing  between  it  and 
them,  one  hand  meaningly  upon  the  han 
dle  of  his  sheathed  club. 

"I  am  her  father,"  half -pleaded,  half- 
protested  Brauner. 

"Cap'n's  orders,"  said  the  policeman  in 
a  gentler  voice.  "The  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  go  to  the  station  house  and  wait 
there.  You  won't  get  to  see  her  here." 

189 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Meanwhile  Casey,  still  holding  Hilda 
by  the  arm,  was  guiding  her  along  a  dark 
hall.  When  they  touched  a  door  he  threw 
it  open.  He  pushed  her  roughly  into  the 
room.  For  a  few  seconds  the  sudden  blaze 
of  light  blinded  her.  Then — 

Before  her,  stretched  upon  a  table,  was 
— Mr.  Feuerstein.  She  shrank  back  and 
gazed  at  him  with  wide,  fascinated  eyes. 
His  face  was  turned  toward  her,  his  eyes 
half -open;  he  seemed  to  be  regarding  her 
with  a  glassy,  hateful  stare — the  "curse 
in  a  dead  man's  eye."  His  chin  was  fallen 
back  and  down,  and  his  lips  exposed  his 
teeth  in  a  hideous  grin.  And  then  she 
saw —  Sticking  upright  from  his  throat 
was  a  knife,  the  knife  from  their  counter. 
It  seemed  to  her  to  be  trembling  as  if  still 
agitated  from  the  hand  that  had  fiercely 
struck  out  his  life. 

"My   God!"   moaned   Hilda,   sinking 
down  to  the  floor  and  hiding  her  face, 
190 


ME.  FEUERSTEIN'S   CLIMAX 

As  she  crouched  there,  Casey  said  cheer 
fully  to  Captain  Hanlon,  "You  see  she's 
guilty  all  right,  Cap'n." 

Hanlon  took  his  cigar  from  between  his 
teeth  and  nodded.  At  this  a  man  sitting 
near  him  burst  out  laughing.  Hanlon 
scowled  at  him. 

The  man — Doctor  Wharton,  a  deputy 
coroner — laughed  again.  "I  suppose  you 
think  she  acts  guilty/'  he  said  to  Hanlon. 

"Any  fool  could  see  that,"  retorted 
Hanlon. 

"Any  fool  would  see  it,  you'd  better 
say,"  said  Doctor  Wharton.  "No  matter 
how  she  took  it,  you  fellows  would  wag 
your  heads  and  say  'Guilty.' ' 

Hanlon  looked  uneasily  at  Hilda,  fear 
ing  she  would  draw  encouragement  from 
Wharton's  words.  But  Hilda  was  still 
moaning.  "Lift  her  up  and  set  her  in  a 
chair,"  he  said  to  Casey. 

Hilda  recovered  herself  somewhat  and 
191 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

sat  before  the  captain,  her  eyes  down,  her 
fluttering  hands  loose  in  her  lap.  "What 
was  the  trouble  between  you  and  him?" 
Hanlon  asked  her  presently  in  a  not  un 
kindly  tone. 

"Must  I  tell?"  pleaded  Hilda,  looking 
piteously  at  the  captain.  "I  don't  know 
anything  about  this  except  that  he  came 
into  our  store  and  told  me  he  was  going 
to— to— " 

She  looked  at  Feuerstein's  dead  face 
and  shivered.  And  as  she  looked,  memo 
ries  flooded  her,  drowning  resentment  and 
fear.  She  rose,  went  slowly  up  to  him; 
she  laid  her  hand  softly  upon  his  brow, 
pushed  back  his  long,  yellow  hair.  The 
touch  of  her  fingers  seemed  to  smooth  the 
wild,  horrible  look  from  his  features.  As 
she  gazed  down  at  him  the  tears  welled 
into  her  eyes.  "I  won't  talk  against  him," 
she  said  simply.  "He's  dead — it's  all  over 
and  past." 

192 


MR.  FEUERSTEIN'S   CLIMAX 

"She  ought  to  go  on  the  stage,"  growled 
Casey. 

But  Wharton  said  in  an  unsteady  voice, 
"That's  right,  Miss.  They  can't  force  you 
to  talk.  Don't  say  a  word  until  you  get  a 
lawyer." 

Hanlon  gave  him  a  furious  look. 
"Don't  you  meddle  in  this,"  he  said  threat 
eningly. 

Wharton  laughed.  "The  man  killed 
himself,"  he  replied.  "I  can  tell  by  the 
slant  of  the  wound.  And  I  don't  propose 
to  stand  by  and  see  you  giving  your  third 
degree  to  this  little  girl." 

"We've  got  the  proof,  I  tell  you,"  said 
Hanlon.  "We've  got  a  witness  who  saw 
her  do  it — or  at  least  saw  her  here  when 
she  says  she  wasn't  here." 

Wharton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Don't  say  a  word,"  he  said  to  Hilda. 
"Get  a  lawyer." 

"I  don't  want  a  lawyer,"  she  answered. 
193 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"I'm  not  guilty.  Why  should  I  get  a  law 
yer?" 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  do  all  your  talking 
in  court.  These  fellows  will  twist  every 
thing  you  say." 

"Take  her  to  the  station  house,"  inter 
rupted  Hanlon. 

"But  I'm  innocent,"  said  Hilda,  clasp 
ing  her  hands  on  her  heart  and  looking 
appealingly  at  the  captain. 

"Take  her  along,  Casey." 

Casey  laid  hold  of  her  arm,  but  she 
shook  him  off.  They  went  through  the 
sitting-room  of  the  saloon  and  out  at  the 
side  door.  When  Hilda  saw  the  great 
crowd  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  shrank  back.  "There  she  is!  There 
she  is!  They're  taking  her  to  the  station 
house!"  shouted  the  crowd. 

Casey  closed  the  door.  "We'll  have  to 
get  the  wagon,"  he  said. 

They  sat  waiting  until  the  patrol  wagon 

194 


MR.   FEUERSTEIN'S   CLIMAX 

came.  Then  Hilda,  half -carried  by  Casey, 
crossed  the  sidewalk  through  a  double  line 
of  blue  coats  who  fought  back  the  fran 
tically  curious,  pushed  on  by  those  behind. 
In  the  wagon  she  revived  and  by  the  time 
they  reached  the  station  house,  seemed 
calm.  Another  great  crowd  was  pressing 
in;  she  heard  cries  of  "There's  the  girl 
that  killed  him!"  She  drew  herself  up 
haughtily,  looked  round  with  defiance, 
with  indignation. 

Her  father  and  Otto  rushed  forward 
as  soon  as  she  entered  the  doors.  She 
broke  down  again.  "Take  me  home! 
Take  me  home!"  she  sobbed.  "I've  not 
done  anything."  The  men  forgot  that 
they  had  promised  each  the  other  to  be 
calm,  and  cursed  and  cried  alternately. 
The  matron  came,  spoke  to  her  gently. 
"You'll  have  to  go  now,  child,"  she  said. 

Hilda  kissed  her  father,  then  she  and 
Otto  clasped  each  the  other  closely.  "It'll 
195 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

turn  out  all  right,  dear,"  he  said.  "We're 
having  a  streak  of  bad  luck.  But  our  good 
luck'll  be  all  the  better  when  it  comes." 

Strength  and  hope  seemed  to  pass  from 
him  into  her.  She  walked  away  firmly 
and  the  last  glimpse  they  had  of  her  sad 
sweet  young  face  was  a  glimpse  of  a  brave 
little  smile  trying  to  break  through  its 
gray  gloom.  But  alone  in  her  cell,  seated 
upon  the  board  that  was  her  bed,  her  dis 
grace  and  loneliness  and  danger  took  pos 
session  of  her.  She  was  a  child  of  the 
people,  brought  up  to  courage  and  self- 
reliance.  She  could  be  brave  and  calm  be 
fore  false  accusers,  before  staring  crowds. 
But  here,  with  a  dim  gas-jet  revealing  the 
horror  of  grated  bars  and  iron  ceiling, 
walls  and  floor — 

She  sat  there,  hour  after  hour,  sleep 
less,  tearless,  her  brain  burning,  the  cries 
of  drunken  prisoners  in  adjoining  cells 
sounding  in  her  ears  like  the  shrieks  of 
196 


MR.   FEUERSTEIN'S   CLIMAX 

the  damned.  Seconds  seemed  moments, 
moments  hours.  "I'm  dreaming,"  she  said 
aloud  at  last.  She  started  up  and  hurled 
herself  against  the  bars,  beating  them  with 
her  hands.  "I  must  wake  or  I'll  die.  Oh, 
the  disgrace !  Oh !  the  shame !" 

And  §he  flung  herself  into  a  corner  of 
the  bench,  to  dread  the  time  when  the 
darkness  and  the  loneliness  would  cease  to 
hide  her. 


197 


XII 

EXIT  MR.   FEUERSTEIN 

The  matron  brought  her  up  into  the 
front  room  of  the  station  house  at  eight 
in  the  morning.  Casey  looked  at  her  hag 
gard  face  with  an  expression  of  satisfac 
tion.  "Her  nerve's  going,"  he  said  to  the 
sergeant.  "I  guess  she'll  break  down  and 
confess  to-day." 

They  drove  her  to  court  in  a  Black 
Maria,  packed  among  thieves,  drunkards 
and  disorderly  characters.  Upon  her  right 
side  pressed  a  slant-faced  youth  with  a 
huge  nose  and  wafer-thin,  flapping  ears, 
who  had  snatched  a  purse  in  Houston 
Street.  On  her  left,  lolling  against  her, 
was  an  old  woman  in  dirty  calico,  with  a 
faded  black  bonnet  ludicrously  awry  upon 
scant  white  hair — a  drunkard  released 

198 


EXIT    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

from  the  Island  three  days  before  and  cer 
tain  to  be  back  there  by  noon. 

"So  you  killed  him,"  the  old  woman  said 
to  her  with  a  leer  of  sympathy  and  ad 
miration. 

At  this  the  other  prisoners  regarded  her 
with  curiosity  and  deference.  Hilda  made 
no  answer,  seemed  not  to  have  heard.  Her 
eyes  were  closed  and  her  face  was  rigid 
and  gray  as  stone. 

"She  needn't  be  afraid  at  all,"  declared 
a  young  woman  in  black  satin,  address 
ing  the  company  at  large.  "No  jury'd 
ever  convict  as  good-looking  a  girl  as 
her." 

"Good  business!"  continued  the  old 
woman.  "I'd  'a'  killed  mine  if  I  could  'a' 
got  at  him — forty  years  ago."  She  nod 
ded  vigorously  and  cackled.  Her  cackle 
rose  into  a  laugh,  the  laugh  into  a  maud 
lin  howl,  the  howl  changing  into  a  kind  of 
song — 

199 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"My  love,  my  love,  my  love  and  I — we  had 

to  part,  to  part! 
And  it  broke,  it  broke,  it  broke  my  heart 

— it  broke  my  heart!'' 

"Cork  up  in  there!"  shouted  the  police 
man  from  the  seat  beside  the  driver. 

The  old  woman  became  abruptly  silent. 
Hilda  moaned  and  quivered.  Her  lips 
moved.  She  was  murmuring,  "I  can't 
stand  it  much  longer — I  can't.  I'll  wake 
soon  and  see  Aunt  Greta's  picture  look 
ing  down  at  me  from  the  wall  and  hear 
mother  in  the  kitchen — " 

"Step  lively  now!"  They  were  at  the 
Essex  Market  police  court;  they  were 
filing  into  the  waiting-pen.  A  lawyer, 
engaged  by  her  father,  came  there,  and 
Hilda  was  sent  with  him  into  a  little  con 
sultation  room.  He  argued  with  her  in 
vain.  "I'll  speak  for  myself,"  she  said.  "If 
I  had  a  lawyer  they'd  think  I  was  guilty." 

After  an  hour  the  petty  offenders  had 
200 


EXIT    MR.   FEUERSTEIN 

been  heard  and  judged.  A  court  officer 
came  to  the  door  and  called:  "Hilda 
Brauner!" 

Hilda  rose.  She  seemed  unconcerned, 
so  calm  was  she.  Her  nerves  had  reached 
the  point  at  which  nerves  refuse  to  writhe, 
or  even  to  record  sensations  of  pain.  As 
she  came  into  the  dingy,  stuffy  little  court 
room  she  didn't  note  the  throng  which 
filled  it  to  the  last  crowded  inch  of  stand 
ing-room  ;  did  not  note  the  scores  of  sym 
pathetic  faces  of  her  anxious,  loyal  friends 
and  neighbors ;  did  not  even  see  her  father 
and  Otto  standing  inside  the  railing,  faith 
and  courage  in  their  eyes  as  they  saw  her 
advancing. 

The  magistrate  studied  her  over  the 
tops  of  his  glasses,  and  his  look  became 
more  and  more  gentle  and  kindly.  "Come 
up  here  on  the  platform  in  front  of  me," 
he  said. 

Hilda  took  her  stand  with  only  the  high 

201 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

desk  between  him  and  her.  The  magis 
trate's  tone  and  his  kind,  honest,  old  face 
reassured  her.  And  just  then  she  felt 
a  pressure  at  her  elbow  and  heard  in 
Otto's  voice :  "We're  all  here.  Don't  be 
afraid." 

"Have  you  counsel — a  lawyer?"  asked 
the  magistrate. 

"No,"  replied  Hilda.  "I  haven't  done 
anything  wrong.  I  don't  need  a  lawyer." 

The  magistrate's  eyes  twinkled,  but  he 
sobered  instantly  to  say,  "I  warn  you  that 
the  case  against  you  looks  grave.  You  had 
better  have  legal  help." 

Hilda  looked  at  him  bravely.  "I've  only 
the  truth  to  tell,"  she  insisted.  "I  don't 
want  a  lawyer." 

"We'll  see,"  said  the  magistrate,  giving 
her  an  encouraging  smile.  "If  it  is  as  you 
say,  you  certainly  won't  need  counsel. 
Your  rights  are  secure  here."  He  looked 
at  Captain  Hanlon,  who  was  also  on  the 

202 


We're  all  here.      Don't  be  afraid  "        Page  202 


EXIT    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

platform.  "Captain/'  said  he,  "your  first 
witness — the  man  who  found  the  body." 

"Meinert,"  said  the  captain  in  a  low 
tone  to  a  court  officer,  who  called  loudly, 
"Meinert!  Meinert!" 

A  man  stood  up  in  the  crowd.  "You 
don't  want  me!"  he  shouted,  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  make  himself  heard  through  a 
great  distance  instead  of  a  few  feet. 
"You  want—" 

"Come  forward!"  commanded  the  mag 
istrate  sharply,  and  when  Meinert  stood 
before  him  and  beside  Hilda  and  had  been 
sworn,  he  said,  "Now,  tell  your  story." 

"The  man — Feuerstein,"  began  Mein 
ert,  "came  into  my  place  about  half -past 
one  yesterday.  He  looked  a  little  wild — 
as  if  he'd  been  drinking  or  was  in  trouble. 
He  went  back  into  the  sitting-room  and  I 
sent  in  to  him  and — " 

"Did  you  go  in?" 

"No,  your  Honor." 

203 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

"When  did  you  see  him  again?" 

"Not  till  the  police  came." 

"Stand  down.  I  want  evidence,  not 
gossip.  Captain  Hanlon,  who  found  the 
body?  Do  you  know?" 

"Your  Honor,  I  understood  that  Mr. 
Meinert  found  it." 

The  magistrate  frowned  at  him.  Then 
he  said,  raising  his  voice,  "Does  any  one 
know  who  found  the  body?" 

"My  man  Wielert  did,"  spoke  up  Mein 
ert. 

A  bleached  German  boy  with  a  cowlick 
in  the  center  of  his  head  just  above  his 
forehead  came  up  beside.  Hilda  and  was 
sworn. 

"You  found  the  body?" 

"Yes,"  said  Wielert.  He  was  blinking 
stupidly  and  his  throat  was  expanding 
and  contracting  with  fright. 

"Tell  us  all  you  saw  and  heard  and  did." 

"I  take  him  the  brandy  in.  And  he  sit 

204. 


EXIT    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

and  talk  to  himself.  And  he  ask  for  paper 
and  ink.  And  then  he  write  and  look 
round  like  crazy.  And  he  make  limy  talk 
I  don't  understand.  And  he  speak  what 
he  write — " 

Captain  Hanlon  was  red  and  was  look 
ing  at  Wielert  in  blank  amazement. 

"What  did  he  write?"  asked  the  magis 
trate. 

"A  letter,"  answered  Wielert.  "He  put 
it  in  a  envelope  with  a  stamp  on  it  and  he 
write  on  the  back  and  make  it  all  ready. 
And  then  I  watch  him,  and  he  take  out  a 
knife  and  feel  it  and  speak  with  it.  And 
I  go  in  and  ask  him  for  money." 

"Your  Honor,  this  witness  told  us 
nothing  of  that  before,"  interrupted  Han 
lon.  "I  understood  that  the  knife — " 

"Did  you  question  him?"  asked  the 
magistrate. 

"No,"  replied  the  captain  humbly.  And 
Casey  and  O'Rourke  shook  their  big, 

205 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

hard-looking  heads  to  indicate  that  they 
had  not  questioned  him. 

"I  am  curious  to  know  what  you  have 
done  in  this  case,"  said  the  magistrate 
sternly.  "It  is  a  serious  matter  to  take 
a  young  girl  like  this  into  custody.  You 
police  seem  unable  to  learn  that  you  are 
not  the  rulers,  but  the  servants  of  the  peo- 
pie." 

"Your  Honor—  "  began  Hanlon. 

"Silence!"  interrupted  the  magistrate, 
rapping  on  the  desk  with  his  gavel.  "Pro 
ceed,  Wielert.  What  kind  of  knife  was 
it?" 

"The  knife  in  his  throat  afterward," 
answered  Wielert.  "And  I  hear  a  sound 
like  steam  out  a  pipe — and  I  go  in  and 
see  a  lady  at  the  street  door.  She  peep 
through  the  crack  and  her  face  all  yellow 
and  her  eye  big.  And  she  go  away." 

Hilda  was  looking  at  him  calmly.  She 
was  the  only  person  in  the  room  who  was 

206 


EXIT   MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

not   intensely   agitated.    All   eyes   were 
upon  her.  There  was  absolute  silence. 

"Is  that  lady  here?"  asked  the  magis 
trate.  His  voice  seemed  loud  and  strained. 

"Yes,"  said  Wielert.  "I  see  her." 

Otto  instinctively  put  his  arm  about 
Hilda.  Her  father  was  like  a  leaf  in  the 
wind. 

Wielert  looked  at  Hilda  earnestly,  then 
let  his  glance  wander  over  the  still  court 
room.  He  was  most  deliberate.  At  last 
he  said,  "I  see  her  again." 

"Point  her  out,"  said  the  magistrate — 
it  was  evidently  with  an  effort  that  he 
broke  that  straining  silence. 

"That  lady  there."  Wielert  pointed  at 
a  woman  sitting  just  outside  the  inclosure, 
with  her  face  half -hid  by  her  hand. 

A  sigh  of  relief  swelled  from  the  crowd. 
Paul  Brauner  sobbed. 

"Why,  she's  our  witness!"  exclaimed 
Hanlon,  forgetting  himself. 
207 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

The  magistrate  rapped  sharply,  and, 
looking  toward  the  woman,  said,  "Stand 
up,  Madam.  Officer,  assist  her!" 

The  court  officer  lifted  her  to  her  feet. 
Her  hand  dropped  and  revealed  the 
drawn,  twitching  face  of  Sophie  Liebers. 

"Your  Honor,"  said  Hanlon  hurriedly, 
"that  is  the  woman  upon  whose  statement 
we  made  our  case.  She  told  us  she  saw 
Hilda  Brauner  coming  from  the  family 
entrance  just  before  the  alarm  was  given." 

"Are  you  sure  she's  the  woman  you 
saw?"  said  the  magistrate  to  Wielert.  "Be 
careful  what  you  say." 

"That's  her,"  answered  Wielert.  "I 
see  her  often.  She  live  across  the  street 
from  Meinert's." 

"Officer,  bring  the  woman  forward," 
commanded  the  magistrate. 

Sophie,  blue  with  terror,  was  almost 
dragged  to  the  platform  beside  Hilda. 
Hilda  looked  stunned,  dazed. 
208 


EXIT    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

"Speak  out!"  ordered  the  magistrate. 
"You  have  heard  what  this  witness  testi 
fied." 

Sophie  was  weeping  violently.  "It's  all 
a  mistake,"  she  cried  in  a  low,  choked 
voice.  "I  was  scared.  I  didn't  mean  to 
tell  the  police  Hilda  was  there.  I  was 
afraid  they'd  think  I  did  it  if  I  didn't  say 
something." 

"Tell  us  what  you  saw."  The  magis 
trate's  voice  was  severe.  "We  want  the 
whole  truth." 

"I  was  at  our  window.  And  I  saw 
Hilda  come  along  and  go  in  at  the  fam 
ily  entrance  over  at  Meinert's.  And  I'd 
seen  Mr.  Feuerstein  go  in  the  front  door 
about  an  hour  before.  Hilda  came  out  and 
went  away.  She  looked  so  queer  that  I 
wanted  to  see.  I  ran  across  the  street  arid 
looked  in.  Mr.  Feuerstein  was  sitting 
there  with  a  knife  in  his  hand.  And  all  at 
once  he  stood  up  and  stabbed  himself  in 
209 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

the  neck — and  there  was  blood — and  he 
fell — and — I  ran  away." 

"And  did  the  police  come  to  you  and 
threaten  you?"  asked  the  magistrate. 

"Your  Honor,"  protested  Captain 
Hanlon  with  an  injured  air,  ''she  came  to 


us." 


"Is  that  true?"  asked  the  magistrate  of 
Sophie. 

Sophie  wept  loudly.  "Your  Honor," 
Hanlon  went  on,  "she  came  to  me  and  said 
it  was  her  duty  to  tell  me,  though  it  in 
volved  her  friend.  She  said  positively 
that  this  girl  went  in,  stayed  several  min 
utes,  then  came  out  looking  very  strange, 
and  that  immediately  afterward  there  was 
the  excitement.  Of  course,  we  believed 
her." 

"Of  course,"  echoed  the  magistrate 
ironically.  "It  gave  you  an  opportunity 
for  an  act  of  oppression." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  get  Hilda  into 
210 


EXIT    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

trouble.  I  swear  I  didn't,"  Sophie  ex 
claimed.  "I  was  scared.  I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  doing.  I  swear  I  didn't!" 

Hilda's  look  was  pity,  not  anger.  "Oh, 
Sophie,"  she  said  brokenly. 

"What  did  your  men  do  with  the  letter 
Feuerstein  wrote?"  asked  the  magistrate 
of  Hanlon  suspiciously. 

"Your  Honor,  we — "  Hanlon  looked 
round  nervously. 

Wielert,  who  had  been  gradually  rising 
in  his  own  estimation,  as  he  realized  the 
importance  of  his  part  in  the  proceedings, 
now  pushed  forward,  his  face  flushed  with 
triumph.  "I  know  where  it  is,"  he  said 
eagerly.  "When  I  ran  for  the  police  I 
mail  it." 

There  was  a  tumult  of  hysterical  laugh 
ter,  everybody  seeking  relief  from  the 
strain  of  what  had  gone  before.  The 
magistrate  rapped  down  the  noise  and 
called  for  Doctor  Wharton.  While  he  was 
211 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

giving  his  technical  explanation  a  note 
was  handed  up  to  the  bench.  The  magis 
trate  read : 

GERMAN  THEATER,  3  September. 
YOUR  HONOR — I  hasten  to  send  you  the 
inclosed  letter  which  I  found  in  my  mail 
this  morning.  It  seems  to  have  an  im 
portant  bearing  on  the  hearing  in  the 
Feuerstein  case,  which  I  see  by  the  papers 
comes  up  before  you  to-day. 

Very  truly  yours, 
WILLIAM  KONIGSMARCK, 

Manager. 

The  magistrate  handed  the  inclosure  to 
a  clerk,  who  was  a  German.  "Read  it 
aloud,"  he  said.  And  the  clerk,  after  a 
few  moments'  preparation,  slowly  read  in 
English: 

To  the  Public: 

Before  oblivion  swallows  me — one  sec 
ond,  I  beg ! 

212 


EXIT    MR.    FEUERSTEIN 

I  have  sinned,  but  I  have  expiated.  I 
have  lived  bravely,  fighting  adversity  and 
the  malice  which  my  superior  gifts  from 
nature  provoked.  I  can  live  no  longer  with 
dignity.  So,  proud  and  fearless  to  the  last, 
I  accept  defeat  and  pass  out. 

I  forgive  my  friends.  I  forget  my  ene 
mies. 

Exit  Carl  Feuerstein,  soldier  of  for 
tune,  man  of  the  world.  A  sensitive  heart 
that  was  crushed  by  the  cruelty  of  men 
and  the  kindness  of  women  has  ceased  to 

beat. 

CARL  FEUERSTEIN. 

P.  S.  DEAR  MR.  KONIGSMARCK — 
Please  send  a  copy  of  the  above  to  the 
newspapers,  English  as  well  as  German. 

C.F. 

The  magistrate  beamed  his  kindliest 
upon  Hilda.  "The  charge  against  you  is 
absurd.  Your  arrest  was  a  crime.  You  are 
free." 

213 


THE    FORTUNE    HUNTER 

Hilda  put  her  hand  on  Otto's  arm.  "Let 
us  go,"  she  murmured  wearily. 

As  they  went  up  the  aisle  hand  in  hand 
the  crowd  stood  and  cheered  again  and 
again;  the  magistrate  did  not  touch  his 
gavel — he  was  nodding  vigorous  ap 
proval.  Hilda  held  Otto's  hand  more 
closely  and  looked  all  round.  And  her  face 
was  bright  indeed. 

Thus  the  shadow  of  Mr.  Feuerstein — 
of  vanity  and  false  emotion,  of  pose  and 
pretense,  passed  from  her  life.  Straight 
and  serene  before  her  lay  the  pathway  of 
"work  and  love  and  home." 


THE  END 


DATE  DUE 


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